


Dead Man's Gun

by Scribblez09



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribblez09/pseuds/Scribblez09
Summary: Jack has avenged his father's death, but what does life have in store for him now? As he tries to find his calling in life, he's suddenly faced with a new challenge: his darker side.





	1. Dead Man's Gun

Jack Marston sat staring into the hearth of his ranch house living room fireplace, wondering if the events that had just transpired had been real, or if it was all just a dream, or even if it was some sort of story he'd read in a book as a boy that had somehow come true. He sat on a leather chair with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting heavily atop his clasped hands. He ran a hand through his beard and mustache, grinning briefly with the satisfaction that it had grown in so thick and full, just like his father's had been. His grin quickly disappeared; it had only been several hours ago that he shot and killed Edgar Ross. The retired government man was his first murder committed. His father was now avenged.

Jack didn't feel the complete, peaceful satisfaction he was expecting. A great disappointment ebbed into his bones, and he felt it deep in his gut that he'd let his parents down. Shock still gripped the nineteen-year-old. In hindsight, Jack realized he could have walked his horse home; he could have camped out under the sky when night had fallen. Instead, he spurred his horse into a sprint at dusk. He felt sick with fear—he panicked whenever he saw a horse and rider, causing him to spur his horse even faster. What he had done elated and shocked him. After all the long years of itching and yearning for revenge, it had finally happened so fast.

The black mustang's body was slick with sweat and his sides and mouth were coated with foam by the time Jack returned to Beecher's Hope. It was almost dark when he dismounted; his legs gave out and he fell to his knees almost underneath his mount. With difficulty, Jack rose to his feet and led the horse into his stall. He took his time unsaddling and brushing out the mustang in the barn. He fed and watered the horse afterwards, and as his mount ate and drank his fill, he stood beside him and stroked his neck. The time spent taking care of the black beauty calmed him—there was something about the sound of the horse chewing on hay and the brush sliding across his silky coat that relaxed Jack.

“Well, it's finally done,” he said softly, patting the horse's neck. Tears threatened to spill over his eyes and down his cheeks as he breathed, “It's finally done.”

The horse brushed his velveteen muzzle over Jack's hands and whickered softly. The animal had been his only companion after his mother's death the other day but felt like a lifetime ago. With a heavy sigh, Jack left the barn, quietly closing the double doors on his way out.

Outside, he looked around the empty ranch stead, and his heart bled. Now, he was truly alone. And now that he'd gotten his revenge, what was there to do? Despite his best efforts, the ranch slowly ran into debt and decay and he was forced to sell the livestock not long after he buried his father, so there was nothing to take care of besides his father's horse.

A thought occurred to Jack as he climbed the hill behind the barn—he could have been killed by Ross. If he would've pulled his gun a half-second later, he would've been shot down just like his father. Jack felt a tremble wrack his body.

He counted his steps as he ascended the steep hill to his parent's graves. He'd memorized every nook and indention; the well-beaten path he'd made over the years was his own making. His feet knew the way, and they led him to stand before John and Abigail's graves. He glanced at Uncle's grave, acknowledging it with a nod. His legs quivered as he knelt before his parents' final resting place. He took off his father’s hat and held it to his chest as he glossed over the inscriptions he'd carved into the wooden crosses. He'd read them countless times.

“I finally did it. It's done after so many years.”

He took a refreshing breath as he stood. He turned, descended the hill, and retired to the house, where he sat down heavily in the arm chair that he now sat in. He had lost all track of time as he sat contemplating.

A sudden pop and crackle in the fireplace stirred him back to the present. He blinked, letting his memories fade into the deepest recesses of his mind. He ran a hand over his face and sat up in his seat. His legs creaked and popped as he stood up and shuffled to the back door. His boots thudded and his spurs tinked as he walked out onto the wrap-around porch. He took several deep breaths as he looked out at the surrounding wilderness, catching a glimpse of several wild horses galloping across the property―now _his_ property―their hooves thundering across the grassland and kicking up dust. An owl hooted nearby; a pack of coyotes yipped and yowled together somewhere off in the night several miles out; thousands of crickets chirped their night melodies.

Jack checked his pocket watch. It was four in the morning. He took his sweet time laying out a line of tobacco on a small strip of paper before rolling it and sealing the cigarette with a quick lick of his parched tongue. He took out a match from his pants pocket, struck it across the porch railing, and lit the cigarette. He took several savory drags before letting the smoke roll out of his mouth. He watched the world go on from the view of his back porch; life seemed so damn simple for Mother Nature, and he wished he were an animal, perhaps a wolf or a horse loping around freely across the land.

His thoughts began to wander as he took drag after drag, letting the smoke float out of his mouth. He thought of his father, of his tumultuous lifestyle before leaving Dutch's gang and starting up a better life for his family. _If only we would've had more time_ , he thought with a sad sigh. He frowned as he continued, _If only that son of a bitch hadn't have double-crossed my father._ He shook his head and took a big drag, releasing the smoke in an angry exhale. _That son of a bitch!_

Jack hung his head and leaned his elbows on the back porch railing, suddenly becoming overcome in a wave of emotion. Tears built up in his eyes; several managed to slip from his control and fall onto the wooden porch. Manning up, he sniffed and wiped his eyes with his hand. He straightened up, took a long drag of his cigarette, and exhaled deeply to resume control of his emotions. There was absolutely nothing he could do about _anything_ now. All he could do now was live in the present and attempt to give a damn about the future.

He finished his cigarette in a rush, extinguished it on the railing, and flicked it off the porch. Still wide awake, he stood leaning against a column. He was still too caught up in his thoughts. His frown lessened as he spotted a fox prowling around his property. Without thinking, Jack drew his pistol and shot at it, not caring that he missed by a couple inches and disappeared in the night. He grinned as the fox took off in a blur of red fur and retreated to the woods that flanked the ranch.

The night seemed eerily quiet after the gunshot. He didn't dare go back to the barn: his horse desperately needed rest, though he was sure the gunshot would've startled him awake. He took his hat off and let it rest on the railing beside his arm as he combed his fingers through his greasy, long hair.

“A shot or two of whiskey would be nice right about now,” he murmured to himself. He flinched at the sound of his voice stabbing through the silence. Sighing, he straightened back up, retrieved his hat, and tugged it back snugly on his head. He went back into the house and went straight to his room, where he stripped off all his clothes except his long johns and collapsed on his bed. Sleep was waiting kindly for him, and he let himself be taken within seconds.

* * *

Jack awoke with a violent start. His dreams had been wrought with blood, screaming, gunshots, and the thundering of hoof falls. He remembered riding fast away from somebody on a black mustang with scars and a piebald face. He remembered being shot at, and several bullets found their mark in his back and shoulders, but he somehow remained rooted in the saddle. Blood stained his clothes, gunshots pursued him and his horse, but he was able to escape...then he was at last gunned off his horse. Before he struck the ground beneath his horse's hooves, he jerked awake and sat up in bed, panting and looking around his room. He still expected his horse to trample him and his pursuers to catch up to him and finish him off.

Trying to catch his breath, he ran his hands across his face and lay back down. His body shook from the realistic quality of the dream. “Goddamn it,” he croaked, his voice strange to his ears. “What the hell?” His mind still in the fog of his dreams, he lay there panting and trying to make sense of where he was and his bearings.

In a sudden blinding flash, the events of the previous day, and of the past three years, came back to him and came crashing down on his mind and soul with painful force. He lay prone as he began to think of what to do next. He supposed he could start up Beecher's Hope again, maybe purchase about twenty or thirty head of cattle, lasso some mustangs and bring them back to the ranch to break them, maybe hire a couple ranch hands to help with the livestock...

The fleeting idea of him becoming a bounty hunter crossed his mind, and he grinned at the thought. Though it wasn’t entirely an honest man’s work, it would still suffice for his need of cash and his unquenchable, unexplainable appetite for adventure. And now that he had killed his first man, he supposed killing others wouldn’t bother him, especially if they gave him probable cause. Turning in criminals would prove rather difficult, as he would have to report to a lawman or a government man. A deep scowl darkened his face, and the idea was dismissed even quicker than the previous.

His scowl softened as he pondered on. Perhaps he would become a writer, pick up his boyhood dream and write about his experiences or even think of some fantastic story. Maybe so, but he seemed too changed to pursue a childhood yearning. Still, the calling—no, the _seduction_ —of writing a novel seemed tempting all the same, but to sit in his room and try to write in an empty shell of a house that once held so much love and promise in such a brief span of time was unacceptable to him. No, he couldn't live like that, in that painful shadow of the past.

 _This isn't my home anymore_ , he thought. His eyes widened at the power of his revelation. _There's nothing for me here...But if I leave, where will I go? What will I do?_ He inhaled sharply and ran his hands over his face, overcome with the multitude of questions about to erupt in his brain. His mind was in a swirl of nauseating questions that he felt he might never know the answers to.

_I can't stay here._

He flung back the covers and got dressed, feeling pressed for time as he grabbed his meager wad of money, his bolt-action rifle, and his Carcano rifle. He donned his father’s hat and tugged it down snugly on his head before heading out the door.

He went to the barn, saddled his father's horse, and mounted up. He reined the black mustang right and rode at a fast trot into Tall Trees. He rode through the woodland, through the clearings and rocky ledges, in search of...well, he wasn't quite sure. He rode in silence, a slight frown upon his lips and his brow furrowed in lost contemplation. To him, his purpose in life seemed already complete—he was only nineteen and yet it seemed there was nothing else to do.

For hours, he rode, and the same questions plagued him. He had absolutely no answers for anything his mind conjured up, and it frustrated him at how much of a blind, bleak trail his life had led him down. There was no plan, no right course he could see that made any sense to him now. It all seemed pointless for him to try and sort things out.

He was jolted from his thoughts when his father’s horse suddenly jinked to the right and whinnied in terror. Grabbing the saddle horn, Jack looked about as he tried to rein his mount into control. He gasped when he saw a giant paw come swiping down at him.

“Shit!” he exclaimed and reined his horse to the side, trying to avoid the bear's deadly blow. His horse shrieked as the paw fell upon his hindquarters, the claws slicing deep into the hide and throwing him off balance. Horse and rider tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and leather. Jack struggled to get up out from under the horse, but his leg was caught in the stirrup and pinned underneath the horse's side. The bear ripped open his horse’s neck. With a gurgling scream, the mustang's life was ended.

With a bellow of determination and rage, Jack pulled his leg free. He barely had time to straighten his senses and regain his balance before the bear was after him. He bolted away, amazed at how everything had gone to hell in such a short time. He grabbed his pistol from its holster, looked over his shoulder, and cursed when he saw the bear was loping right at his heels. He sprinted thirty feet before he stopped, turned around, and, in one swift motion, threw up his arm and aimed at the bear's forehead. He shot off three rounds into its thick skull with a wail of revenge. The bear roared in pain and surprise as the bullets tore into its brain, and it fell dead in mid-stride. Its body slid to a stop at Jack's feet before falling to its left side, where it lay bleeding out of its obliterated skull. Jack stared wide-eyed down at the dead bear, his body shaking and his chest heaving.

He kept his gun in his hand as he walked back to what was left of his poor horse. Tears welled in his eyes as he inspected the mustang’s body: the neck was completely torn apart, and there was a deep tear in his flank. Blood stained his once beautiful, shimmering coat; an expanding pool of red covered the ground around the body. Jack was at a loss for words. In shock, he untied the saddle bags and slung them over his shoulder. He debated whether to salvage the tack: on one hand, he would be recovering his father's saddle and bridle; on the other, it would slow him down if he were to be attacked by another bear or a pack of wolves. With a heavy heart, he decided it best to leave it, dead horse and all. With a heavy sigh, he turned and headed to Manzanita Post.

His gun was at the ready the entire time as he jogged back to civilization. Twice, he had to save himself from the dangerous animals of Tall Trees: four wolves surrounded him, one nearly tackling him to the ground and ripping out his throat if it weren't for his powerful pistol shooting it in the chest. The remaining wolves attempted to avenge their fallen comrade, but Jack quickly disposed of them with a bullet for each.

An hour later, he reached his destination. His body ached from the tension he'd held, and when he shuffled past the people camped beside the general store bloodied up and panting, several people stared at him. A man asked if he was well, to which he replied haughtily, “Well, do I look like it? My horse got killed by a bear, _I_ almost got killed by wolves, and you're askin' if I'm _all right?_ Well, you can go to hell, mister!” He looked at the others who were still gawking and demanded, “The hell you all lookin' at?!” Immediately, they went back to minding their own business. Irritated, Jack walked onto the porch of the general store and sat down on one of the wooden benches.

As he packed and rolled up a cigarette, he looked about at the hitched horses. There they stood, mostly silent and looking rather bored or sleepy, in a beautiful array of breeds and colors. He glanced over a brown and white paint mare, but she seemed rather tiny for his liking. A bay gelding grasped his interest, but he frowned when he noticed the horse's legs were a bit stocky and beat-up-looking: the horse was most likely an aged cow pony. Further down the line, a spunky-looking buckskin trumpeted a high-pitched whinny: Jack could tell the colt was barely four or five years old and had too much energy and was presumably not experienced and therefore would easily spook. Several more caught his eye, but they really weren't what he was looking for. He wanted a sleek, fast horse, one that was pure muscle, hardy, and built for speed.

A loud, angry neigh caught his attention, and he turned his head toward the direction of the sound. His cigarette fell out of his mouth as his jaw dropped in bewilderment. The horse he looked at pulled and yanked at his tether, rearing up halfway and flailing his hooves at the hitching post. The gelding's coat was jet black, as was his mane and tail, but he had a piebald face and white socks on his hind legs. The horse also looked like he had been to hell and back, for as Jack strode toward him to take a closer look, he was taken aback by the scabs and scars that littered his body. He stopped abruptly and gasped when he discovered that the horse's eyes were red. He had never seen such a horse, and for some strange reason, he felt compelled to take a closer look. This horse felt _right_ for him...

The horse was tethered away from the other horses to the only hitching post by the train station, presumably because of his aggression, and as Jack approached him, the horse squealed with anger and reared up, his hooves slicing through the air. Recklessly, he strode up to the scarred steed and stood right in front of him, staring deep into his red eyes. The horse stared back, simultaneously pawing at the ground and swishing his tail. He tossed and bobbed his head from side to side when Jack extended his hand towards his white muzzle; he pinned his ears flat against his head and snorted as his hand came closer and closer. Just when he thought the horse was going to bite him or rear up and kill him with his front hooves, the horse calmed as his hand came to rest on his muzzle. He slid his hand up the horse's face and let it rest underneath his forelock. Jack and the horse stared at each other, and it all fell into place. Both were beaten up, scarred, angry, and itching for some sort of rebellion. A perfect match.

Before he even cared to look about to see if the owner was around, Jack untied the horse's reins and crisscrossed them atop his withers. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he mounted up. A wild smile burst across his lips as he turned the horse southwards and set spurs to his sides. The horse launched himself forward at a hell-bent, furious gallop. Jack's surroundings became a green and brown blur, and he cackled in triumph at his new mount, the Dark Horse. Jack grinned devilishly; he liked the name he'd come up for his new mount.

“HYAH!” he roared and spurred the Dark Horse faster, galloping him underneath the railroad bridge and out of Tall Trees. He kicked and kicked, coaxing the horse to go as fast as he could. He wanted to see what the Dark Horse was made of. He urged him on through the dark, dreary swamplands of Thieves’ Landing, across the plains of Hennigan's Stead, through MacFarlane's ranch, around Pike's Basin, and down the road to the lower lands of Cholla Springs.

“Work, ya damn nag!” Jack commanded, spurring the horse again. The Dark Horse tossed his head. Jack was getting frustrated—his new mount wasn't as fast as his previous, nor was his stamina as good, but he proved to be tough and he didn't seem to slow as he cut across the land. Fed up with working his horse to his limits, Jack leaned back in the saddle and pulled back on the reins.

“Easy, now. Great,” he said as he eased his exhausted, foaming mount to a walk. He let him walk at his own pace on the road across the desert plains of Cholla Springs. Jack patted the Dark Horse's sweaty neck and relaxed in the saddle.

The two rebels entered Armadillo several minutes later. Jack momentarily took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow; he needed a drink to soothe his parched throat and give his horse a well-needed rest. He let the Dark Horse amble up to the watering trough in front of the saloon and drink his fill before he dismounted and hitched him.

Jack strolled through the swinging bat doors. Through the cloud of smoke and the overpowering stench of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, he observed the cowboys and prostitutes that populated the room. Over by the staircase, the pianist sat playing his honky-tonk music. Multitudinous conversations flooded Jack's ears, but he paid no heed to any of it as he side-stepped and shuffled through the crowd over to the bar. He caught the bartender's attention and started off with a shot of whiskey to waste away the afternoon. The rest of the day went by in a hazy, drunken blur. Very quickly, Jack grew short on money, and at around five o'clock, he drank his last shot and waited for his mind to clear.

His slow descend to sobriety was quickened when he had to stumble outside and throw up over the side of the railing. Several people gave cries of disgust; others broke out in pearls of laughter. Somewhere behind him, a man guffawed, “Whoo-ee! That boy can't hold his liquor! What a yellow-belly!”

Jack grew annoyed when a concerned cowpoke came to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, son? You shouldn't be drinkin' yourself to oblivion like that!”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jack snapped back, “Why not? I've got nothin' else to live for!” Shaking off the stranger's arm, he turned and stumbled back into the saloon and sat down on one of the couches against the walls. He rested his head against the wall, not caring when his hat fell off and landed on his lap. His drunken, tired gaze drifted around the saloon, pausing on the prostitutes. Despite his distaste in them and Uncle’s forewarnings, he gazed at them now with longing. He knew it was just the liquor making his lust rise to an unexpected level, but when they saw he was too drunk for their business, they turned their attention to less inebriated customers.

For another hour or so, he sat waiting to think clearly. By the time dusk began to settle over Armadillo, he felt he was sober enough to get up.

 _Maybe I should continue riding tomorrow…when I’m sober…but where?_ He slowly got up from his seat. After paying for a room, Jack stumbled up the stairs and shuffled down the hall to the last door on the left. He didn’t care to take off anything except his guns, boots, and hat, which he tossed aside on a chair before collapsing on the bed. His mind was numbed by the alcohol, and the room began to spin as he lay there. Groaning, he pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes, letting the drink-induced sleep take him to a dreamless reverie.


	2. Born Unto Trouble

The muffled sounds of conversation and a bustling morning from outside the Armadillo's saloon window stirred Jack out of his fitful, drink-induced sleep. He moaned with pain as a pounding migraine wracked his head. His mouth was parched and had the stale, nasty taste of alcohol. Nausea stirred his stomach like a tornado. He ran a hand over his face. In between the stabbing migraine and his swirling gut, he tried to think of what to do next.

_To hell with it_ , Jack thought with a groan. _I'll wait ‘til I feel better before I get to thinking about doing anything._ He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, frowning as his body screamed from the subtle movement. _Goddamn it, I've overdone it again._

For the remainder of the morning—or what he presumed was morning—and well into the afternoon, he lay in bed, wallowing in his misery. Over time, his hangover subsided, and his migraine became a dull throbbing headache, but when his physical pain passed, psychological pain rose as memories of his parents and of his life flowered and bloomed in his mind. Thoughts of his empty ranch and his bleak future mulled about his head, and a deep sorrow crept into his heart, exacerbating his condition.

_I’m tired of being alone. I could go back home, but what’s the point?_ He ran a hand over his face and tried to think through the foggy abyss of his mind. _Perhaps it’s time I go see her again. It’s been a long while. Hope she doesn’t mind too much._ He took his time crawling out of bed, put on his boots, hat, and guns. He had to pause several times to wait until his dizziness and nausea faded. He left the room, stumbled down the steps, and out the double swinging bat doors.

Jack sighed with guilt when he found his Dark Horse still hitched in front of the saloon from the night before. “Son of a bitch,” he hissed under his breath and untied his horse from the hitching post. “I left you out here overnight.” He led his mount to the livery, where he paid the stable boy to feed, water, and brush out his scarred steed. While he watched the boy work, he packed, rolled, and smoked a cigarette with gusto. He figured it would be his breakfast, especially since his stomach was still in a swirl and would probably refuse to keep food down. He rubbed his temples and grumbled; his headache and his emotional turmoil were hammering away at him. He cursed under his breath as he finished off his cigarette, dropped it on the dirt, and ground it out with his boot.

“Ya ‘bout done?” he snapped at the boy. “I got places to go and a friend to see, goddamn it.”

The grungy boy paused grooming the Dark Horse and looked up at him. “Beg pardon, mister?”

“I said, are you about done?” Jack repeated, raising his voice to the boy as he walked over to him.

“Mister, I gotta finish with yer hoss. He—”

“Enough, boy! Let me do it, damn it!” He snatched the curry comb from the boy’s small hand. “Who the hell taught ya how to brush out a damn horse, anyway?”

“My pa.”

The curry comb stopped midway across the Dark Horse's scarred back; Jack inhaled sharply as a pang of jealousy, guilt, and anger sliced through his heart. His chin lowered to touch his collarbone as he sighed. Softly, he murmured, “Sorry, kid.” Not knowing what else to do or say, Jack pushed the curry comb down the rest of his horse's back and followed the contours of his rump. He brushed out the horse in silence, saddled him, and mounted up. He tossed the young man a dollar coin before spurring his horse out of Armadillo at a lope.

Several miles out, Jack eased his horse down to a walk as they neared the sloping upward trail towards Hennigan’s Stead. The horse easily climbed the side of the canyon and across the uneventful plains, plodding along and occasionally looking about at the surroundings. Neither horse nor rider were in no hurry. Jack had gotten his revenge, and he figured he wouldn't have to worry until much later when people would discover that Ross was missing. He briefly thought of Ross' wife, and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. _Well, it serves her right for marrying a government man,_ he thought with a furrowed brow and a frown. _But she was a sweet old lady...And Ross’ brother sure was a fine feller to talk to...I wonder what they’re doing now, who they’re cursing..._ Before his guilt shot him down further, he shook his head, toughened up, and finalized, _But what’s done is done, and that’s just too damn bad for them._

It took a long while to reach his destination, but when he did, he found himself grinning as he rode across the railroad tracks and onto the MacFarlane's property. He browsed as he rode past the cattle and horse corrals, pausing on every ranch hand’s face. When he didn’t find who he was looking for, he spurred the Dark Horse toward the general store and the sheriff’s office, but to no avail. Finally, he turned his horse to the large ranch house.

He found her sitting in a chair on the wrap-around porch of the house. Her blonde hair seemed so much longer than he remembered, and her tanned, sun-beaten skin complimented her strong, commanding presence. Her glimmering blue eyes took in her surroundings with a tired, wise gaze. She wore her usual ranching attire and had her hair pulled back into a single, thick braid draped over her left shoulder. She looked worn, but her robust pride radiated off her, showcasing her in a wonderful glow of a strong woman in a man’s world.

As her eyes met his, Bonnie lit up with joy and nearly jumped off her chair in her excitement to see him. “Jack Marston! What a wonderful surprise!”

Jack chuckled as he stopped the Dark Horse by the entrance of the picket fence. He dismounted stiffly and ambled up to the porch. It took all of what little strength and happiness he had left to smile up at her and feign contentment―the events of the last seventy-two or so hours infected his heart and soul like an incurable disease. He kept his fake smile until she came jogging down the steps and embraced him tightly. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her or helped her out on the ranch.

They embraced for a long while. During that time, he noticed that Bonnie held him much tighter than usual when last they had met; she seemed sadder, like she missed him more than usual. He wondered why that was. _Perhaps things with her husband were going awry? Or perhaps things weren't going so well on the ranch? That's probably what's bothering her,_ he thought as they stepped out of their embrace to look at each other fully and more closely.

“It's good to see you, Jack,” Bonnie said softly. She looked him over and her joy faltered at the sight of his shabby, enervated appearance. She brushed off the heavy coat of trail dust that accumulated on his duster and murmured, “Good Lord above, when's the last time you cleaned up? You're as dirty as a dust bowl. You been riding around a lot?” She looked over his shoulder and gasped as she noticed the Dark Horse for the first time. Stepping around Jack, she walked down the steps and towards the scarred steed with a mixture of horror and wonder. The beast acknowledged her with a flick of his ears and a quick inhale of her scent.

“And what the hell happened to your horse?” she exclaimed as she walked closer. She stopped in sudden revelation and looked back at Jack. “Wait, where's your father's black mustang?”

“Pa's horse got killed by a grizzly in Tall Trees a couple days back.”

Bonnie's face drooped with sadness, but after a moment, she gestured to the Dark Horse with a wave of her hand and asked, “So where did you get this... _nag?_ ”

Horse and rider exchanged glances as Jack responded, “Let's just say he found me.”

“What happened to the horse? I mean, just look at him! He's scarred up and beaten worse than a lone cow out on the prairie!” She looked back at the steed, and her eyes narrowed. She gasped again. “ _Are his eyes red?!_ ” She walked back to stand beside Jack, staring at the Dark Horse the entire time. “Did he come straight out of Hell itself?”

Jack shrugged. “Hell if I know, Bonnie. He just...showed up when I needed him. So, I took him, and he turned out to be rather perfect for me, I guess.”

She stared at his mount before looking back at him, motioned to him with a boisterous wave of her hand. “And what happened to you? You're so... _different_ now, and I'm not just sayin’ that because you look like hell, Jack.”

He snorted at her blunt observation and bowed his head. A grin briefly lifted the corners of his mouth; he licked his cracked, dry lips.

“I'm serious, Jack,” she continued, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Did something happen to you?”

His grin disappeared. His shoulders sagged as he remembered everything that had transpired, and with a sad sigh, he replied, “Yes, ma'am. It's been...a hell of a ride these past couple days.” He nodded to the open front door of her ranch house. “Can we please step inside, Bonnie? I've got quite a story to tell you, and I don't want no one else to hear of it ‘cept you.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but a moment later, she smiled and said, “Why, of course, Jack. Come on in! Make yourself at home. You know you’re more than welcome here.”

He gave her a thankful smile, albeit a weak one. “You’re like family to me, Bonnie. Thank you.”

She returned the smile as she led him across the threshold. Jack took off his hat as he fell in step behind her and followed her into the living room. Bonnie momentarily disappeared; Jack stood waiting for her, and when she reappeared, she came in carrying a tray and a lavishly decorated tea set.

“You don't have to stand there all day. Have a seat. You look tired. Here, let me pour you some tea.” 

He sat down on one of the luxurious leather couches and stared without seeing as she poured the tea. His mind was far from focused, his thoughts miles behind him at Lake Don Julio at the exact moment when he pulled the trigger seven times. Lost in his memories, he watched as Ross’ dead body flew back lifelessly into the river, streaks of blood staining the clear water. Jack sipped absentmindedly at the tea, not realizing how scalding hot it was until it burnt his lips and tongue. He coughed and squeezed his eyes shut with pain.

He looked up at Bonnie when he felt her eyes studying him closely.

“So, what you been up to, Jack? I don't see you for two months and you just show up outta the blue and ride up to my house all beat up to hell. Did something happen?”

“Y-Yes……. And I reckon you ain't gonna like what I’m about to say.”

She paused in lifting her tea cup; a knowing glint flickered in her eyes as she slowly sat her fine china down on the coffee table between them. “Go on, Jack. Please.”

“I gunned down Edgar Ross three days ago.”

Her hands shot up to cover her mouth. She stood and walked to the nearest window, where she remained staring out at the plains for a time. Jack watched her, guilt choking him into silence.

At long last, her words filled the room in a sad, wondrous whisper, “Jack Marston, what have you done?”

Jack stood up, anger boiling his blood. “What the hell was I supposed to do, Bonnie? The man killed my father! You know it’s true! You came to our ranch! You saw my father’s grave!”

She looked back at him out of the corner of her eye. “And I paid my respects to your father, I remember. I still mourn over your father, too, you know...But...why did you do it?”

His jaw dropped. “He deserved it for what he did to my pa!”

“But you're a wanted man now, Jack!” she exclaimed as she turned and faced him. “Was it worth getting a bounty on your head for the sake of revenge?”

“Yes, and if I could replay history over and over again, I’d do it all the exact same way as it happened! I ain’t sorry one bit.”

Bonnie shook her head.

He glared at her and demanded, “What?”

“You know damn well what, Jack! I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s not right for you to go around gunnin’ down a lawman and justifyin’ it by sayin’ he deserved it. There is no sense in what you've done. You're no better than the outlaws your father hunted down three years ago!”

“That's horse shit, Bonnie, and you know it! My pa busted his ass for the government. Hell, he had no choice! And what did he get in return? A river of bullets in his body! The government and the law never did a damn bit of good for my pa! Them government agents and them badge-wearin' sons-a-bitches are the real criminals!” He paced the living room and glared down at the floor.

“You're a wanted man, Jack Marston! _Do you hear me?_ You're gonna get yourself killed if you don’t start thinkin’ about what you're doing and―”

“What the hell does it matter, Bonnie?! It's not like I've got anything else to live for!”

She slapped him across the face. “John Marston, Jr., you should NEVER say such things!” She pointed to the chair he was sitting in and commanded, “Now, sit the hell down! There's no need for hysterics and wild passions now. Let's keep it civilized.”

He glared bitterly at her. “Don't call me John. Ever. It's Jack, not John.” He returned to his seat and crossed his arms.

Bonnie sat as well, and after a cleansing moment, she asked him, “So what happened? Tell me everything.”

With an sigh, Jack uncrossed his arms and leaned his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair before recounting everything that happened to him within the past three days, from the moment his mother died, to the seconds after he gunned down Ross, and then the events that followed. His anger subsided and exhaustion set in as he spoke; his voice became hushed and pained, growing raspy as if he were an old man recounting his younger days. When at last he finished, he slouched in his chair.

“My God, Jack. You can sure spin up a tale, that's for sure.” She took a sip of her tea. “So you buried your poor mother Abigail―God rest her sweet soul―then you hunted and gunned down Ross in a duel, then got drunk at Armadillo afterwards?”

Jack nodded.

“So, what are you doing here, besides confessing all this to me?”

With a considerable amount of effort, he straightened up and shrugged. He clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. “Hell if I know, Bonnie.” He looked her in the eyes. “You’re like family to me.”

She smiled faintly and nodded. “I reckon so. Thank you, Jack, for your kind words.”

He stared off into space solemnly. His eyelids fluttered from exhaustion. Quite unexpectedly, his stomach growled.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah, I guess, but I don't want to be any trouble, Bonnie. I wouldn't want to ask you for nothin'.”

“Oh, you hush up now. You ain't no trouble. Besides, you look like you could use a bath, some food, and rest. You go get washed up while I make you something to eat.” She waved him upstairs. “Go on, now. And don’t you fall asleep in the tub. I’d hate to have to drag you out.”

Jack somehow managed to drag himself up the stairs and freshen up. One of Bonnie’s housemaids took his clothes and washed them for him while he took a much-needed bath. The water was black by the time he was done. With perfect timing, Bonnie hollered that his food was ready. After the maid slipped his clothes into the room from around the door, he dried off, got dressed, and headed downstairs to the dining room, where he met Bonnie at the table. The maid served him a most splendid country-style supper, including cornbread, and potatoes, steak, and fresh vegetables. He wolfed it down with gusto, savoring the hot, home-cooked meal.

“Good Lord above! Nobody's gonna steal it from ya!” Bonnie laughed.

In between spoonfuls, he explained, “I haven't had a meal like this in ages, Bonnie, not since Ma passed. Thank you kindly.”

“You’re very welcome, Jack.” When he was done, she said, “Now you go and rest at your father’s old shed. You look like you’re about to fall over dead from being so darn tired.”

His throat tightened. He frowned and shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’d hate to be any further of a bother to you. And I gotta get to heading back home.”

“What for? What's the hurry, Jack? Stay here for a while. We're more than happy to have ya, and we could always use the extra help ‘round the ranch. You have all the time in the world to stay here.”

“I'm sorry, Bonnie, but I just can’t.” He stared down at the table so she couldn’t see the excruciation on his face. He cleared his throat to occupy the silence.

“Oh, Jack...”

“What?”

She shook her head as she picked up the dirty dishes. Without a word, she retired to the kitchen.

Confused, he followed her. “Bonnie?”

She didn't respond as she began washing the dishes.

Jack walked up behind her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. Turning her around gently, he looked her in the eyes. “Answer me. What’s―?”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Bonnie threw the wash rag down she was using. “What happened to your father, what he left behind, it shouldn’t happen to you as well! You ought not to go rampaging about like the outlaw your father used to be!”

Jack jerked his hand away from her shoulder, as if he’d been poked with a hot iron. “I'm not becomin’ like my pa, Bonnie.”

The two stared at each other for the longest time. At long last, Jack looked away, taking a step back and glaring off into space. He sighed and put his hat back on.

“I'll walk myself out, Bonnie. Thank you for your hospitality.” He strolled briskly toward the front door.

A slender hand grabbed his wrist, holding him back. “Jack, wait!”

He stopped and looked back at her, giving her an annoyed but inquisitive look. He almost gasped with surprise when she cupped the side of his face with her hand; he suppressed a shudder as her thumb traced the scars on his cheek he’d received from the bear so many years ago. 

“You look like your father. He was a good man, and so are you. Just don’t follow the path he left behind so many years ago. Do what he would’ve wanted you to; just don’t become what he used to be.”

He nodded and swallowed hard. He choked down the pain and pride her words brought to him. He turned and walked out the door. He hastily mounted up and rode away, feeling Bonnie’s eyes on him entire time as he spurred the Dark Horse back to Beecher’s Hope.

Bonnie’s disappointment haunted him the entire ride. He felt so much heavier in the saddle as the Dark Horse barreled across Hennigan’s Stead, through Thieves Landing, and over the Great Plains. His sorrow, discomfort, and confusion over the vast ocean of his emotions nearly made him dizzy, and he was glad that the Dark Horse galloped fast and hard back home.

It was well after dark when he arrived back at the empty ranch. Both horse and rider were exhausted. After he cared for his horse, he retired to his room. Tossing aside his weapons, boots, hat, and duster, he collapsed atop his bed, not caring to undress completely or pull back the sheets and lay under them. He fell asleep within moments, letting his mind go blank and his body limp as slumber took him.

* * *

Harsh knocking jerked Jack awake, and he sat up in bed, panting and disoriented. Dawn was just on the crest of the world, but his room was too dark for his eyes to see as they struggled to adjust to the lack of light.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” came a deep, masculine voice from somewhere. More knocking ensued; the shuffling of boots upon the porch and muffled grumbles accompanied after.

Jack's heart began to pound. _Shit_ , he thought. _They've found out. Shit!_ He leapt out of bed and hurriedly got dressed, slung his rifle and shotgun over his shoulder, and hefted his pistol in his shaking right hand. His chest heaved. Sweat beaded across his brow as he crawled to the side of the window and peered out. He saw nothing, but when the knocking continued, he flinched and had to choke down a frightened yelp.

_They're at the front door..._

As quietly as he could, he snuck up to the door, his hand never lowering and his trigger finger twitching. He pressed his back and left shoulder up against the door and, craning his neck and head around, peeked out the corner of the window. He flinched and leaned away from the window at the sight of a marshal and two sheriffs waiting on the other side of the door. He tried to swallow down his fear and steel himself as he holstered his pistol. _Maybe they don't know yet. Why else would they be knocking? It's not like they're about to bust down the door and kill me..._ Jack frowned as his pessimism sunk back in. _But maybe they're trying to draw me out._

His heart still fluttering, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

The marshal tipped his hat to him. “Mornin', young man,” he greeted, his baritone voice traveling past his thick, graying beard and mustache. He looked to be in his forties and was dressed in the blue uniform of Blackwater's law enforcement. He held himself up with diligence, looking like he took pride in his job and wore the badge with sincere pleasure.

“M-morning, sir,” Jack struggled back. He nodded to the sheriffs, who were rather under-dressed in comparison to the marshal. They wore the usual attire for any sort of cowpoke, but they held themselves with ostentatious inexperience and pride. They both looked to be a few years older than Jack, and barely had any facial hair. _They'll give anyone a badge these days_ , Jack thought with an inward grin. Looking back to the marshal, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

“One of our own has gone missing, a retired lawman by the name of Edgar Ross. A cowpoke found his body floating several miles downstream of Lake Don Julio. As of right now, we have no witnesses besides the man who fished his body out of the water, and we don't have any suspects. We were wondering if you have seen or heard anything unusual of late.”

“No, sir. Haven't seen nothin'.”

The marshal frowned. “You look familiar, son. What's your name?”

“Marston, sir, Jack Marston. I own this ranch.”

His eyes widened. “You're John Marston's boy?”

Jack's throat tightened. He nodded in reply.

“Awful business, what the law did to him three years back.”

“Wasn't Ross behind that there business with your pa?” one of the sheriffs asked in a wily, irritating voice. He took a step toward him.

Jack glared at the man. His hand twitched beside his holstered gun. “Yes, mister, he was.”

The three lawmen exchanged enlightened glances before looking back at him.

“And would you know anything about his death?”

The tension between the four men suddenly heightened to a dangerous level, and the air grew thick with the possibility of a point-blank-range gun fight. Every muscle was tense, every mind focused and ready. The sound of breathing suddenly became the only noise. Jack's index finger inched towards the trigger; his eyes darted from one lawman to the other. He felt his forehead crease as he glared at them one by one.

The marshal's eyes narrowed with an inquisitive spark to them. He looked Jack in the eye as he admonished, “Now, son, don't you be trying anything...foolish.”

Before his conscience could get the better of him, Jack drew and shot the marshal in the forehead. The sheriffs struggled to draw their revolvers, and in their blundering, they were gunned down as well. It was all over in the next second.

Jack stared down at the three dead men, his body shaking and his breath coming in heaves. His knees became inexplicably weak and buckled underneath him. Rather clumsily, he slid down the side of the threshold.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice soft and quivering. “Shit.”

* * *

The whiskey bottle felt heavier to Jack as he lifted it to his lips and guzzled down the strong liquor with hasty effort. Though it was merely two hours ago that he was in a blubbering, hysterical panic, the thick buzz he felt now drowned out the emotions he felt sick from earlier. He sat on a rocking chair and stared out at Tall Trees. From the view of his back porch, he could barely see the three bodies he stashed within the thick bushes. Already, a pack of coyotes were feasting on the dead lawmen. He glanced down at the spot where the three men died, and he could barely make out the blood stains on the wood. He washed and scrubbed with a bucket and brush for an hour straight, and though his arms and back throbbed from the effort of making the evidence disappear, it was worth it to him. Jack grinned; there wouldn't be anything to worry about for a while.

His grin faded as he continued to think, despite his quick descent into intoxication. _They’ll be after me for sure, now that those three are missing. It’s only just a matter of time now; there’s no turning back for me._ He snorted and thought on, _Hell, there never was any way for me to turn back anyhow. Guess that's just how it’s gotta be now._

With a shake of his head, he lifted the bottle once more and finished it in several gulps before he threw it aside. Jack rolled a cigarette and lit up, taking in the savory tobacco with a smile. He let the smoke roll off his lips and dissipate before his face. Drunk and careless, he watched the world go on around him. He didn't dare think of his parents, or of Bonnie or her disbelief when he told her what he'd done, nor of how and/or why the Dark Horse showed up and chose him. Even though he wasn't in the best state for self-reflection, a revelation occurred to him. It all seemed to make sense to him for the first time. Everything that happened to him and would soon happen to him was all for a reason, and seeing as he was being led down some unknown trail towards a desert of despair and revenge, he figured he'd enjoy the ride while he could before he would be completely surrounded by a thunderstorm of bullets and a cloud of lawmen.

_Hmm_ , he thought with a sloppy grin. _I sure am philosophical when I’m drunk._ He laughed out loud. _Maybe I should write whenever I drink. I could make a best-seller right there!_ His mirth didn’t last as he thought on. _But where did it all go wrong for me, though? When did things get all bent out of shape?_ He took another drag off the cigarette. _Perhaps it’s because of Pa and Ma._ He frowned and angrily flicked off the ashes from the tip of the smoke. _It all started when they met...or maybe when I was born. Maybe I’m some sort of mistake, one of many mistakes they made along the way. I must be the horrible seed of two―_

He stopped himself from going any further. He let it all go along with the smoke he blew out his mouth as he exhaled. _Enough’s enough. Can't let it get to you now that everyone’s gone._ Seeking further comfort, he reached down and grabbed the second and last bottle he had taken out of the house. Not wanting to think on anything further, he drank and smoked on well into the night, so much so that by the time he was too far gone, he had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, the empty bottle dropping to his feet and rolling off the porch and the cherry-red tip of the cigarette faded from existence, leaving nothing more but a disappointing, short-lived stub.


	3. Far Away

The midday sun beat down on Jack as he awoke with a thundering headache and a sick stomach. His stiff body screamed at him as he stirred in his rocking chair. His face contorted into a strange visage as he roused from the deep, darkest alcohol-induced sleep he’d experienced. He tried to sit up from his slouched, cramped position in the chair, but his body refused to move. His mouth was unbearably dry, and it hurt to swallow. The sunlight burned his eyes, despite the fact that he still wore his hat, and his headache seared. Gasping at the pain, he screwed his eyes shut and covered his face with an uncoordinated movement of his arm.

With difficulty, he tried to recall last night’s events, and he frowned when he couldn’t remember what he’d done after dispatching the three dead lawmen and cleaning up the bloody mess they’d left on the porch. He rattled his brain for the memories afterwards; however, his thoughts were nothing more than a foggy drunken abyss.

In vain, he tried to get up out of the rocking chair, but the movement was too much and too sudden. Jack cursed as he felt his stomach churn. He leaned over the side of the chair just in time as bile raced up his throat. He purged whatever alcohol was left in his stomach onto the ground with a sudden excessive force that shocked and hurt him. Panting from the convulsion, he sat back into the chair, bewildered but feeling better than when he first awoke.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured and wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

For over three hours, he sat waiting for his sluggish body to get up to speed with his murky mind. All the while, he dozed periodically, and whenever he awoke he tried to get up. At first, his body seemed to cooperate, but when he felt his stomach begin to churn, he immediately gave up and sat still in order to calm his nausea. When at last he could move without provoking his gut, Jack stood up awkwardly up out of his chair and stumbled to his room, where he collapsed onto his bed and fell back to sleep.

* * *

_He stared out at the vast expanse of desert land; tumbleweeds rustled as they rolled lazily by him. Not a soul seemed to exist on the empty plain. He seemed utterly alone, and the inner urge to run until he found something new and alive and worthwhile filled his soul. He began to run across the desert. His boots felt heavier as he ran across the sand, and he struggled for hours and hours with no food or water. His Dark Horse was nowhere in sight, and his duster became filthy as sand and dust was picked up by the steady crosswind. He was exhausted, but the hope of being found drove him forward._

_Without warning, the scenery changed, and he found himself atop the hill that overlooked Beecher’s Hope. His heart jumped into his mouth at the sight of his father standing atop the overlook. His back was turned and his arms were neatly folded behind his back. He stood in the place of his grave. Jack ran forward with renewed vigor. John turned around and stared at him with a disappointed frown. Jack stumbled to a stop before his father; his joy faltered and morphed into confusion._

_John shook his head. “Oh, my son, my blessed son.”_

__

__

_“What? Pa, where did you--How did--Why are you--?” Too many questions flooded his mind, and his mouth was unable to keep up._

__

__

_“Jack, what the hell are you doin’?”_

__

__

_“Pa?”_

__

__

_“Look at you, for Christ’s sake. What are you doin’, boy?”_

__

__

_Jack’s confusion turned into irritation. “Pa, what the hell are you talking about? What are you saying?! Answer me!”_

__

__

_His father grew silent. The saddened look he gave Jack was his only answer before he dissipated into nothing. Then Jack stood alone atop the overlook; where his father had stood his grave now lay just as it had always been. He looked about frantically, calling for his father. No answer came, except for a ghostly whisper that sent a chill through his body._

__

__

_“Oh, my son, my blessed son.”_

His body was covered in sweat as he jerked awake and sat up in bed. It took him a second to recognize his room: he was still expecting to be in front of his father’s grave. He began to shake uncontrollably. A disbelieving sob escaped him. Once again, sorrow engulfed him as he remembered his father, and his mother, were dead. The dream was so real, so full of the promise that he saw his father after so long, that he had forgotten everything he’d experienced and the reality of his hopes being temporarily fulfilled and then shattered was too much for him.

“Pa,” he uttered, as if the word would bring his father back. He laid back down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, let his mind flood with memories of his past and with questions. Why did the dream come to him now? Why did he dream it in the first place? Why wasn’t his mother in it? He shook his head and let the question fade from his thoughts unansweredthat’s all they would be, unanswered questions. He let silent tears run down the sides of his face.

_I can’t stay here anymore, and yet…I can’t leave. What the hell do I do? If I stay, it’ll only be a constant reminder of everything…But if I go, what’s to become of this house? Do I let Ma and Pa’s house just rot away, after all the work they’ve put into it? Do I keep it up, try to start over? Goddamn this place, anyway…I just can’t…I can’t do it. I have to go. I can’t stay here. Not anymore._  


Despite the urgency he felt to get up and leave, Jack couldn’t bear to move. This moment in time seemed too important to disrupt just yet; he wanted to treasure laying in his bed, the most comforting thing he’d had in the three years of sorrow and joyless existence. But soon, the matter at hand, the impatient, nudging necessity of change ushered him to get up out of bed and don his firearms, hat, boots, and duster. He went about the house, gathering anything he thought would be useful: the last of his family’s money, food he could pack into his saddlebags, an extra set of clothes, cooking supplies, flint and steel, a blanket roll, his father’s map, a compass, binoculars, all of his father’s firearms and the corresponding ammunition for each gunhe figured he could sell whatever guns he didn’t want for a fair price. He searched every room, taking this and that, and when at last he had collected all his desirables onto the dining room table, he sorted through what he could carry in his satchel and saddlebags. He rolled all of the firearms into the blanket roll and stuffed his satchel with as much as he could fit into it. Setting everything back onto the table, he went outside and faced the new day.

Placidly, he walked to the stable and found the Dark Horse standing patiently in his stall. The horse whickered warmly to him as he opened the double barn doors. The morning sun bathed the interior of the barn in an almost ethereal glow as Jack took his sweet time taking good care of the horse. He fed him hay, let him drink his fill in the trough beside the hitching posts, and brushed him out before saddling him up. All the while, Jack was acutely aware of the minutes that ticked by so mercilessly fast, and he savored every moment of an everyday chore.

It was with a heavy heart and a somber pace that Jack led the Dark Horse out of the barn. He turned and shut the doors one last time before he continued on towards the house. The Dark Horse followed obediently, one ear turned towards his rider and the other pricked forward in curiosity. Jack tethered his steed to the porch railing before going back into the house to fetch his pile of accoutrements on the table. He took his time loading the equipment on the horse, making two trips to grab everything. He checked to make sure everything was secured and that the load wasn’t too much for his horse. When at last he was ready, he mounted up and gathered the reins. The saddle creaked; his supplies clinked and shifted in a multitude of sounds. Beneath him, the Dark Horse chewed at his bit and tossed his head anxiously. It was time to go.

Jack held the Dark Horse back as he took in one last look of Beecher’s Hope. He looked up at the overlooking hill and urged the Dark Horse up the hill to his parents’ and Uncle’s graves.

He stopped his horse before the graves and dismounted. He let the reins drop from his hands as he stood before John’s and Abigail’s graves. Kneeling, he took off his hat and bowed his head, resting one forearm on his knee. After a moment, he stood up, put his hat back on, and mounted back up. Without looking back, he spurred the Dark Horse to a lope across the Great Plains.

He rode down the winding road in no hurry, though he could tell his horse was eager to be on the trail again. Despite himself, Jack let his horse’s excitement ebb into his soul. However, it disappeared when his surroundings turned dark and murky, and he soon found himself riding into Thieves Landing. Ignoring the uneasy feeling that crept into his body, he stopped and hitched his horse in front of the gunsmith’s shop. He sold all the revolvers, pistols, repeaters, rifles, and shotguns except for the high-powered pistol, the Henry repeater, the Buffalo rifle, the bolt-action rifle, and the Carcano rifle. Satisfied with his profits, he mounted up and galloped out of town, eager to leave the trouble-ridden settlement far behind him.

He let his horse choose their route as he looked around the world with a newfound clarity and exploration. He didn’t answer to any of the passersby who greeted him as they galloped past him; he barely even noticed anyone’s presence as he became lost in nature. Before he knew it, his horse halted atop an overlook, and his eyes widened as he realized where his horse had taken him. For a time, he watched the goings-on of the ranch. All was peaceful and productive as far as he could tell, just as it always seemed to be.

His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted Bonnie in her garden tending to her crops. He couldn’t help but feel the need to gallop down there and help her out: she seemed tired as she got down on her knees and pulled out the weeds that had begun to invade her patch of profit. Sullied, sweating, and in an overall sour manner, Bonnie sat back on her heels, wiping her brow with a sleeve and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

It was then that she spotted him. Even from way up high on the hill, Jack panicked under her gaze, but her confused, curious stare held him at bay. Without taking her eyes off him, she stood up and dusted the dirt off her pants. She put a hand above her eyes to shade them from the glare of the evening sun as it crept closer to the horizon.

_I should go talk to her_ , he thought with a pang of guilt. We didn’t leave on the best of terms last time. He frowned as he thought better of it and started to rein the Dark Horse back around from where they came. _But what’s it gonna change if I go down there? She won’t accept me, now that I’m a killer._ His face contorted to the same menacing glare it usually held as he clicked his tongue, and the horse walked away with a swish of his tail. Not once did he turn in the saddle and look back, even as she cried, “Jack! Jack Marston!” up at him. He set spurs to the Dark Horse’s sides, and quite suddenly he didn’t hear her at all, just the strong calling of the trail.

He didn’t make it as far away from the MacFarlane ranch as much as he wanted to by the time dusk settled and he could barely see in the dark. No moon shown that night as he made camp in what appeared to be an abandoned Native American settlement. Several foundations of what Jack guessed used to be teepees still stood across the level campground.

“Easy, now,” he cooed as he pulled back on the reins. The horse came to a stop in the middle of the strange location, and Jack looked about in wonder. “Where is everyone?” he pondered aloud. He dismounted and walked around the area, exploring the bare skeletons of what was once shelter for Native Americans. Bending over, he picked up what he guessed was a water jug and studied it briefly. Dropping it back down where he found it, Jack tethered his horse to the teepee and began to set up camp. He started a fire using some of the wood from one of the teepee’s foundation.

As he ate his night’s meager supper of bread, cheese, and beef jerky beside the fire, his thoughts began to wander. Guilt crept back into him as he thought about Bonnie. _Damn it, why didn’t I just go down there? I should have at least helped her out, at least for a day or two. But now that I think on it…no, it just doesn’t seem right. After what I told her, I don’t think she’d value my company anymore._

He sighed and bowed his head, missing her maternal presence and support. At times when he could barely stand to be at home and struggle on, at times when his mother’s grief was worse than his, he would ride to Bonnie’s ranch and stay with her, but no more than a day or two. He had always felt torn between the two mothers he had, between the two ranches, and more than one occasion did he beg his mother to come with him and leave Beecher’s Hope behind. He tried incessantly until the days when she fell into sickness. Abigail would nevertheless shake her head and reply, “I can’t leave this house, Jack. I can’t leave home!”

“But why stay here, Ma?” he would always retort. “Why stay here when we’ve got nothing left?”

She would never answer back, only double over in sorrow and weep heavily, most of the time in his arms. At the time, it seemed so right for them to leave. However, when it came to his own leave-taking, Jack realized it was almost impossible. Home was home, no matter what.

_But that’s all done and over with now, and damned if I ever go back there again,_ he finalized as he crept into his tent. Laying atop his bedroll, he sighed and stared up at the top of his make-shift tent. He let his mind wander, however, from such depressing things and concentrated on more important things. He rolled over and, digging in his saddlebags, pulled out his father’s aging map and studied it in the firelight. _So where to go to next…I wonder where Pa has been to on this here map?_

And that’s when it hit him. Eyes widening with revelation, he sat up and looked over the map again with excitement. _I’ll go wherever Pa went! That’ll help me with something at least. Maybe now I’ll finally get some answers that he never wanted to tell me._ With a smile that could hardly contain his pride and happiness at the new importance in his life, Jack lay back down and settled down for the night, hoping for the morning to come quickly.

* * *

Jack was wide awake and ready to go by the time dawn stretched groggily across Hennigan’s Stead. As he saddled up the Dark Horse, his mind buzzed with the endless possibilities and the places he’d discover. Taking out the map, he discovered the place he was at was called Mescalaro; he smiled faintly as he imagined his father riding over the very ground he and his horse stood on. _Maybe he was here, too. Maybe he found this place like I did._

His adventuring took him across Hennigan’s Stead, and he discovered the breath-taking views of Pike’s Basin, stopping his horse beside the sudden drop-off of the cliff to admire the scenery. He spotted what he figured were cow rustlers below, and when they gave a warning shot up at him, he quickly spurred the Dark Horse on, eager to continue exploring. He came across Coot’s Chapel, where he dismounted and briefly toured the inside of the run-down building. He never spoke a word to the two caretakers, only tipped his hat to them as he mounted back up and rode on. He stumbled upon Riley’s Charge, and quite taken aback by it--for he had never come across what looked like an abandoned battlefield--he explored for several minutes and wondered what had happened. When he could find no answers to his inquiry, he continued to Del Lobo Rock, only to realize that it was a dead end, and he had to turn around.

He avoided contact with Armadillo: civilization seemed impractical. His trailblazing was all that fueled him forward, kept him wandering and desiring more. There was no set path that he followed, no sense of time that mattered to him. Guided only by his father’s map and his ingenuity, he traveled with his dark steed as his companion and means of transportation, and he was more than happy with just that.

On the third day, as he was loping his horse across the sloping hills of Cholla Springs, he suddenly came upon what appeared to be an abandoned house set between two looming rocks and before a backdrop of sloping rocks. Reining his horse to a stop, he took out his father’s map and made out that he had come across Twin Rocks. Looking up from the map, he flinched when a man suddenly came into view, striding forward with a Henry repeater in his hands. He looked to be in his twenties with ragged facial hair and a blanket of black hair poking out from under his boiler hat. He was dressed in what Jack assumed was a gang outfit. Scowling, the man stopped ten feet in front of him and the Dark Horse and peered up at him with a demanding glare.

“Whatcha doin’ out in these parts, mister?”

Jack narrowed his eyes at the man, feeling accused of a crime he didn’t commit. “Just ridin’ around. What are you doin’ ‘round these parts?”

“That ain’t none a yer bus’ness.” The man tightened his grip on the firearm. His trigger finger twitched. “I suggest you keep ridin’ on. Ain’t no good gettin’ mixed up in things ya shouldn’t.”

Jack opened his mouth to reply but stopped when a woman’s pleading came from within the house. “Help! Someone help me!” She was abruptly silenced in the next instant, her voice cut off and muffled by either a hand or a cloth. The man before him tensed and cast a panicked look over his shoulder at the sound of the woman’s struggle with her captor.

“If I’m not mistaken, you got someone in there that doesn’t want to be,” Jack growled. “Am I right, partner?” His hand inched toward his pistol.

“N-now you just keep yer hands where I can see ‘em, mister!” The man gathered up the repeater and pointed it at his chest.

“You wantin’ to start somethin’?”

“I don’t start things, mister. I finish ‘em.”

Before the man could react, Jack drew and shot him in the forehead, sending blood and brains shooting out the back of his skull. The man fell lifeless in a crumpled heap on the ground, his gun falling uselessly at his side in the grass and dirt.

Before Jack had a chance to ready himself, an overabundance of gang members popped out of nowhere all over the estate, several running out of the house and sliding behind barrels and crates for cover. A storm of bullets soon advanced for Jack’s unprotected body. The Dark Horse reared and whinnied in terror. As the horse came back down on all fours, Jack dismounted and ran for the short stone fence that enclosed the house from the desert. He took cover behind the stone wall, his heart racing, breath coming out in excited heaves. He glanced over the fence to do a head-count. He was badly outnumbered twelve to one. Several bullets embedded themselves in the wall near his head, and he ducked back down with a curse.

“I’m gonna die here!” he said to himself, and for a brief moment, he was afraid of that statement. But as the bullets whizzed all around him, and he sat crouched in an almost fetal position, he realized that perhaps death wasn’t such a bad idea. He had not much else to work for, and a shoot-out with some gang seemed a glorious way to go.

_But what about Bonnie?_ a voice from within questioned. _Or Ma and Pa? What would they all think?_

__

__

_What about them? he argued back. Ma and Pa are long dead, and Bonnie…well, she’s better off without having to worry about me, anyways. If I die, I die, and that’s all there is to it._ He peered up over the fence before ducking back down with a determined glare. _But if I’m gonna die, at least I’ll give them and these sons-a-bitches somethin’ to remember me by!_

With bloodlust surging through his body, he stood up and gunned down the closest four men he could see. At the rest of the gang’s retaliation, he ducked back down. As they paused to reload, he abandoned his cover and ran recklessly toward them. His aim was astoundingly more accurate in the face of death. As they fell dead to the ground, Jack challenged, “Who’s next?!”

He got his answer sooner than expected as several shots sounded and pummeled the ground around him. He cried out in pain as a bullet tore through his left shoulder. Looking up from where the bullets came from, he saw a man standing atop one of the giant boulders. Jack responded in kind and quickly ended the man’s life with a couple shots in the gut and chest. Ignoring the searing pain and the blood that trickled down his arm, he turned and killed the other man atop the second boulder. The man fell off the top of the rock and tumbled down to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch.

His attention was turned back to the house when a man’s voice from inside sneered, “This bitch is ours! You made a big mistake by comin’ here, my friend!”

Jack charged at the house and gunned down the three men that emerged. Hopping and skirting around the bodies, he made his way to the front door, only to pause and gather his wits as he heard a revolver being cocked and a struggle happening in the room to his left. He pressed his uninjured shoulder against the wall and readied himself.

He snuck a glance around the corner and saw the last remaining gang member holding the poor woman in a chokehold and pointing his revolver at her head. In her vain attempt to escape, she writhed in his arms, screaming and pleading incoherently.

In one swift movement, he relinquished his cover, threw up his arm, and pulled the trigger. The man’s head was thrown back by the force of the bullet as it decimated his skull, splattering blood and brains onto the back wall. Sobbing, the woman fell out of the dead man’s arms as he collapsed back against the wall.

Jack rushed forward and helped the frightened woman up to her feet. She barely had the energy and sense to get up off the floor and stand on her own. Her dress was torn and bloody in personal places, and her arms and face were spotted with excruciating bruises. Her brown hair was a tangled, bloody mess that fell around her face and shoulders. The fresh blood from her captor stained her hair and the left side of her face, worsening her appearance. Despite all this, as Jack held her up gingerly by her triceps and her waist, he was taken aback by her beauty as she looked up at him with tearful, blue eyes. The sharpness and clarity of her eyes pierced through him, and he had to hold back a gasp as he asked, “You all right, miss?”

She gasped for air and shook violently. “Y-yes,” she choked out. “Thanks to you, I’m saved!” She looked up at him, taking in his features, and with a sudden revelation, she beamed up at him and continued, “Oh, my Lord has not forsaken me! I prayed and prayed, and He finally sent you to me! My hero has saved me!”

Despite her delusional babbling, he couldn’t help but feel pride. He also couldn’t help but feel horribly sorry for the girl, not only for the travesties she must have endured, but for her reasoning behind her salvation. _As if God or religion had anything to do with it_ , he thought to himself with an inward chuckle. “Do you need a ride to town?”

She smiled. “What a chivalrous man you are, sir! Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Sure thing, miss.”

He whistled for his mount, and the Dark Horse came running. At first glance, she gasped and shied away from the steed, but when Jack mounted up and held a hand down to her, she warily accepted his help and mounted up behind him. Jack flinched as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He tightened his grip on the reins and cleared his throat.

“So, uh…Where to, miss?”

“Armadillo. My papa lives there. He’s been lookin’ for me for days, I’m sure of it.”

“I…I reckon so, miss.” He spurred his horse into a lope back to town. As they rode, his vision began to blur, and his weakness worsened. Jack peered down at his left shoulder and his eyes widened at the vast amount of blood that streaked down his arm. Several minutes later, they reached Armadillo.

“Just take me to the saloon, mister…?”

“Marston. Jack Marston.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she repeated his name with wonder. The sound of her melodic voice saying his name sent a pleasing chill through him as he stopped the Dark Horse in front of the saloon. He tried not to favor his injured shoulder as he helped her dismount.

“Dear Lord above!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she pointed to his injury. “Your arm, Mister Marston! Quick, we need to get you to the doctor!”

“I’m fine, miss. It’s just a scratch. It’s you who needs to go see the doc.” He dismounted his horse and hitched him before he escorted her down the wooden walkway to the doctor.

At first sight of them, the man gasped and had them both sit down on the table. He called for his assistant, who was in the back room, and had him oversee Jack. Jack looked him over as he brought over bandages and an assortment of tools. He looked to be around seventeen, maybe even younger; he reckoned he was an apprentice of some sort, or his son. At the idea of their family bond, Jack grew jealous of the boy, and a scowl set itself across his lips.

“M-mister,” the boy stammered in a raspy voice, “I…uh…I need you to take off your duster and shirt.”

Jack acquiesced with a grumble, though not without struggling to hide the sharp pain with every miniscule moment of his left arm. Seeing his struggle, the boy stepped forward to assist him but was stopped short when Jack yelled, “Lemme do it, damn it! I’m just fine!” After he’d slowly removed his duster and shirt, he sat irritably waiting on the table. He watched the boy as he cleaned the blood off his arm. It soon became a struggle for Jack to continue his vigil over the procedure: as the boy was starting to examine his wound, his vision blackened, and as he fell from the table, he struck the floor hard and saw no more.

* * *

When Jack came to, he found himself laying in a soft bed in the doctor’s office. The doctor had explained to him that he’d lost a lot of blood, and that he had blacked out because of it before his boy even had a chance to operate on him. The bullet that injured his arm hadn’t torn through his shoulder but rather lodged itself deep into the muscle. Luckily, Jack was unconscious during its extraction. The woman he’d rescued wasn’t there at his side. This didn’t bother him much, as he figured her father had taken her back home after she was looked after by the doctor.

After a rejuvenating bowl of stew and a considerable amount of water and medicine, Jack was feeling back up to speed and felt the need to move on and continue his trailblazing. After paying the doctor, he retrieved his horse from the livery--the doctor had a stable boy take care of his mount while he was recuperating. Yet again, Jack paid more money, though not without appreciation, and at long last, he was back in the saddle and riding away from civilization.

He was almost out of town when a pleading, feminine voice stopped him.

“Mister Marston! Mister Marston, stop! Wait!”

He didn’t have to turn around in the saddle to know it was the girl he’d saved. He stopped the Dark Horse and waited for her to rush up to the side of his horse. She wore a beautiful blue dress, and her brown hair was curled and put up in a bouncy bun. Despite her multitude of bruises, she looked exceedingly well compared to the day he became her supposed savior.

“You look lovely, miss. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. You look better as well.” She looked out at the awaiting road he was about to embark on and asked, “Where ya headed?”

He shrugged, wincing at the slight movement. His shoulder was unbearably sore, and he could barely move it. “Don’t know yet, miss. And you?”

“I’m to be headin’ back home with my pa to our ranch. Pa’s awful grateful that you rescued me. He’s busy getting supplies at the general store, so he’ll come over in a while. I’m just happy I caught you before you left town.” She beamed up at him with adoring eyes; it almost sickened Jack.

_Yeah, well, I could’ve done without it_ , he thought as he smiled back at her.

“I just wanted to thank ya properly before ya go.” Digging into the satchel slung across her shoulder, she produced twenty-five dollars and held it out to him. “Here, take this. It’s not much, but it’s all I have to give to a wonderful man like you.”

He accepted it from her, stone-faced and not knowing what to say.

“And if our paths ever cross again, I’d like to get to know more about my hero.” She giggled and blushed up at him.

He almost scoffed at her romantics as he tipped his hat to her. “Maybe so, ma’am. Maybe so. You take care now.” As he rode out, he could feel her swooning gaze fixed on him. As much as he appreciated her gratitude, it unnerved him to know she saw him in such a pious light. He urged the Dark Horse onward, galloping freely down the road.

_What a silly little girl_ , he thought with a chuckle. _I sure hope I don’t meet any more crazy people like her._

* * *

Continuing on with his travels, he discovered Hanging Rockhe shuddered when he saw the sinister noose hanging from the spindly, bare tree and how it swayed expectantly in the breeze, as if awaiting patiently for its next victim. Unsettled by the thought and vision, he spurred the Dark Horse on and found Rattlesnake Hollow, Pleasance House, Odd Fellow’s Rest, Jorge’s Gap, Mercer Station, and Critchley’s Ranch. Occasionally, he had to stop and let his throbbing shoulder rest while he took some medicine. The pain in his shoulder wasn’t unbearable, nor was it tolerable—it was just an incessant ache that quickly grew on his nerves and lessoned his pleasure in the saddle as he explored.

It was a week into his journey that Jack noticed the sky above turned slowly into a darkening blanket of storm clouds. He was riding westward on a trail adjacent to railroad tracks when he saw a fat raindrop land on his gloved hand. Frowning, he looked up at the sky to find it had turned into an ominous dark gray, almost black. Lightening crackled across the clouds. Within a few short seconds, an ear-splitting, heart-stopping boom of thunder followed.

The Dark Horse whinnied and reared up, his red eyes wide and darting about.

“Easy, boy,” Jack soothed and patted his trembling neck and withers. “Steady now.” Looking back up, he grunted with discomfort when two raindrops struck his nose and left eyeball. Blinking, he tugged his hat down tighter and quickly took out his map. The closest shelter he found on the yellowing parchment was Ridgewood Farm. He reckoned he was ten miles or so from there, and hoping he’d beat the storm in time, he spurred the Dark Horse into an all-out sprint across the desert of Cholla Springs.

About halfway there, the sparse raindrops quickly developed to a considerable, wet shower, much to his dismay. As the rain started to come down harder, he exclaimed up at the sky, “Oh, come on!” Agitated and getting soaked, he spurred his horse until his mount whinnied with pain and anger and tossed his head from side to side. Fearing he’d get thrown, Jack eased back on his coaxing, and he let the Dark Horse have his head. More than once did he think he would fall out of the saddle: every so often, the Dark Horse would slip and slide on the muddy ground, and with some over-correction, he’d stumble and get back into the rhythmic pounding of a gallop. Despite the urgency to get out of the rain and into dry shelter, Jack let his horse gallop on. One thing was for certain: the Dark Horse had a personality unlike any other horse he’d encountered, so much so that it reminded him of himself.

It had become a torrential downpour by the time he rode up to the lean-to shelter at Ridgewood farm. Hastily paying the nearest ranch hand, he hitched his soaked and spent horse in the stables before running to the shelter and settling down for the night on a bed of straw and blankets in a dark corner away from prying eyes. He shivered and cursed as he lay there; he was absolutely soaked and his clothes were clinging to his skin with unbearable stickiness.

_Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it now, ‘cept get some sleep._ Getting as comfortable as his situation would allow, he lay on his side and watched several men in rancher’s attire who had also rented out the shelter. They sat in a tight circle around two square bales that served as their card table. One of them was dealing and murmuring about how horrid the weather had suddenly become. The other players nodded their agreement. As Jack situated himself to get a better view of the men, he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Did ya’ll hear ‘bout what happened outside of Armadillo ‘bout a week back?” the dealer spoke up.

Interests were piqued; the men looked up at him as they gathered up their cards.

“Nah, what went on?” one of them asked.

“Well, wouldn’t ya know some gunslinger--an’ I mean a real young one at that--gunned down the entire Bollard Twins gang an’ rescued some rancher’s daughter over at Twin Rocks. Ain’t that just somethin’ ya don’t hear ‘bout everyday!”

“Ya don’t say? Who was the gunslinger?”

“If I remember right, it was…oh, damn, what the hell was his name?…,” he man thought on it for a while before snapping his fingers, “…Marston!”

Jack flinched and looked up at the dealer.

“A feller by the name of Marston. I plum forgot his first name, but Marston was the boy’s name.”

One of them sat back and looked at him, perplexed. “Boy? How old we talkin’ ‘bout here?”

“Dunno, maybe eighteen, nineteen. That’s not too bad for a youngster, pullin’ it all off just by hisself. Makes me believe the West ain’t dead yet, eh?”

The card players nodded as the card game started.

“Marston…that name sounds familiar,” another man piped up. “Could that be the famous John Marston?”

The dealer shook his head. “Nah, that ain’t him. I heard tell it was a kid. Couldn’t have been John—he passed away a couple years back. Don’t rightly know what of, but it definitely wasn’t him that cleared out that gang hideout.”

“So you’re thinkin’ it mighta been his son or somethin’? He had a kid, didn’t he?”

The dealer shrugged nonchalantly. “Dunno, friend. Maybe so. All I know is there’s a new gunslinger in town, an’ he’s a young’n with a trigger twitch.”

Jack smirked and closed his eyes. _If only they knew,_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep to the sounds of tall tales and the heavy thunderstorm booming overhead.


	4. The Outlaw's Return

By the time the storm had passed and the sun had broken through the clouds, it was dawn. When Jack awoke, he was still damp from the night before and not as rested as he wanted to be. Stirring from his straw bed, he sat up and looked around. The card players had disappeared, presumably back on the trails and on with their lives. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jack groggily rose to his feet, tugged on his hat, and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He ate a quick breakfast before heading to the stable.

He found his Dark Horse in a stall, dry, unsaddled, and munching on hay. The beast looked quite content as Jack entered the stable and shuffled over to him. _Lucky bastard_ , he thought with a scowl as he started saddling his horse up. After paying for the ranch hand’s hospitality, he mounted up and rode on.

He made his way toward Gaptooth Ridge, still trying to wake up as his horse plodded along at a brisk trot. His injured shoulder still bothered him. Already he could tell his body was hard at work healing his arm, and alongside the medicine he’d acquired from the doctor, he figured his shoulder would be fully healed in no time. With this hope, he rode on, starting to feel content as he continued his exploration.

A shot suddenly shattered through the silence and his happy reverie. Beneath him, the Dark Horse jinked to the side and nickered nervously. Jack reined him under control before looking around. He stopped his horse momentarily to become aware of his surroundings, and his situation, and only then did he realize where he was.

Looking down from the road that had curved around the side of the reddish-brown canyons, he found himself overlooking a campsite just outside of an abandoned mine. _What the hell is this place?_ he thought.

Before he could take out the map to get his bearings, another shot sang out. The bullet landed several feet in front of the Dark Horse, causing him to rear. Jack glared down at the camp and roared, “Hey! Stop that!”

From his vantage point, he saw the camp come alive with a gang of rugged men. The eruption of gunfire reverberated through the canyons as, all around Jack, the bullets ricocheted off the canyon wall and the rocks that sat abreast the road. With a terrified neigh, the Dark Horse reared again. Jack pulled down on the reins, and when the horse came back down on all fours, he spurred the steed forward and yelled, “GO! LET’S GO!” The horse galloped wildly down the trail and away from Gaptooth Ridge.

_Christ alive!_ Jack thought as his horse thundered on down the road. _I was almost a goner back there! Where the hell did they come from?_

It wasn’t until he felt clear of that wretched place that he finally eased the Dark Horse to a slow, plodding walk. The beast was grateful of it: his sides and mouth were foaming and his breath came in heaves. Beneath him, Jack felt the horse’s legs shake from his exertion. Feeling sorry for the winded animal, he pulled him to a stop, dismounted, and made camp for the night.

“You poor frightful bastard,” Jack murmured as he unsaddled his mount. “You got quite the scare back there, didn’t ya?”

As if in answer, the horse blew loudly. He let his ears flop to the sides as he lowered his head in exhaustion. After taking off his bridle and fastening a rope halter together out of a section of his lasso, Jack let the horse roll in the dirt and graze at his own free will. Jack set up his tent and started a small fire. He ate a small portion of his provisions, wishing he was instead enjoying a warm bath, a hot meal, and a shot or two of alcohol, whatever sort it was he didn’t care. He shook his head, though, and thought, _Nah, I can live without those comforts. Nothin’ beats being out on the trail with no one else out here to bother me. I’m free, and that’s all that matters._

But as he thought on, he frowned. _I wonder what Bonnie’s up to…Probably takin’ care of her ranch and being respectable like always._ He shook his head in wonder. _What a strong woman she is, taking after her pa and running that ranch like him…I sure hope she isn’t worrying ‘bout me at all. I wouldn’t want her to be, anyways._

To calm his nerves and thoughts, he packed, rolled, and lit a cigarette using the coals from the fire. He smoked slowly, taking in the savory tobacco and staring out at the night. The ceaseless blanket of stars and the waning gibbous moon gave him enough light to see out for miles over the cactus-littered desert, and the song of crickets and other nocturnal critters assuaged him into a mind-numbing peace. The chilly night air didn’t bother him: even as a slight breeze picked up, he didn’t shiver. The weeks of travel had hardened his body, and he grew accustomed to all manner of weather. Still, the way the breeze played with his hair and goatee relaxed him, like the yearning touch of a midnight lover. His senses dulled with exhaustion, Jack finished his smoke, flicked it into the fire, and crawled into his tent for the night.

 

*             *             *

 

Smoke drifted into Jack’s tent, stirring him from sleep in a fit of coughing. Cursing and sputtering at his early wake-up call, he crawled out of his tent and stood up. He looked around his camp, immediately noticing his fire was out and smoldering. Further out, about fifty yards away, the Dark Horse stood grazing, his jet-black tail swishing from side to side and his hooves stomping to keep the flies at bay. Jack looked back down at what was left of his fire and frowned before grinding out the surviving coals with the heel of his boot. Once the fire had been dealt with, he whistled for his dark mount.

The horse’s ears swiveled backwards, and the beast looked up at him over his rump. With a bob of his head and a playful whicker, he loped over to Jack and came to stand before him. Jack patted his neck before he began saddling him.

He was finishing with the back cinch when the faint sound of hoof falls came to his ears. The sound came from behind him and, turning, he looked over his shoulder to see who, or what, was approaching.

Out in the distance, a mirage appeared, shifting and twisting in the heat waves as horse and rider drew nearer. Confused, wondering if he’d gone insane due to the sun, Jack faced the oncoming apparition and squinted his eyes. His eyes widened and he gasped as he recognized who it was.

“Bonnie?” he exclaimed as she rode up to him. “What are you doin’ out here?”

She stopped her tobiano pinto beside the Dark Horse and dismounted, a look of determination and worry upon her face. Jack couldn’t help but notice how worn and sun-burnt she looked, as well as her the dusty, soiled clothes and the long blonde braid that now looked rather loose and unkempt. The sight of her unnerved him, and it took him a moment to embrace her as she threw her arms around him.

“I came lookin’ for you, Jack,” she explained. “God, you got me scared to death! I was so damn worried about you!”

“Worried?” he stammered as they released each other.

She tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her left ear, looking flustered despite having just found him. “Well, when I saw you up on that hill overlookin’ my ranch, and when you turned and rode away, I just couldn’t help but feel you were headin’ towards disaster or somethin’. After all you told me of what you did…ya know, killin’ Ross and all…I figured you was up to something, Jack.”

Jack blinked, confused and growing irritated at her assumptions. “So why did you ride out here searching for me? What, did you just abandon your ranch to ride out here in the middle of nowhere to find my worthless hide?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t abandon my ranch. I told Daddy and the other ranch hands that I’d be goin’ out on an errand. ‘Course, Daddy saw right through that and tried to convince me to stay, especially after I told him that I saw you up on that hill.” She seemed to stand up straighter in pride as she smirked and continued, “But I won the argument after I told him my reasons behind it. So, no, Mister Marston, my ranch isn’t lost to the coyotes or cow rustlers. It’s still alive and well. But _you_ …” She looked him over; sadness and worry fixed upon her face as she took in his shabby appearance. “You, I’m not so sure about. Jack, I’m worried ‘bout you. You’ll catch your death out here in the desert! You’ll get lost out here and run out of food and water and die under the sun!” She stopped suddenly, and her eyes widened. “Oh, Lord, _that’s what you’re intendin’ to do, isn’t it?”_

He laughed and held up a gloved hand. “No, ma’am, not at all. I’m just trailblazing.”

She folded her arms. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

He opened his mouth to reply but took a moment to think it over. Death reappeared in his mind; yet again the promise of the release from pain and purposeless shifted his thoughts to suicide. Perhaps he _did_ want to get lost and die out here all alone. Flashes of his gunfight with the Bolland Twins gang at Twin Rocks flooded his mind’s eye, provoking ideas and almost convincing him of his theory. It was foolish and reckless, and he realized once again he didn’t care whether he lived or died. Not letting his realizations scare him or show on his face to Bonnie, he laughed again and replied, “No, I’m being serious. I figured I needed a change of scenery. Besides, I have yet to really get a look around the world.”

Her frown deepened; she tightened her folded arms and raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“Honest, Bonnie, I’m not lyin’. Sure, killing Ross was¾”

“Stupid.”

“Yeah, it was a stupid thing for me to do, but with this,” he gestured to the wilderness around them, “I am completely sure I’m doing the right thing.”

She shook her head. “No, Jack. Abandon this reckless adventure. Go back home and take care of your ranch. Last I heard, last I _saw_ , it was fallin’ apart. Or if you like, if you’re not ready to start that, you can come back with me. I need some extra hands and I reckon you need some straightenin’ up to do, anyways.”

His eyes narrowed. “‘Straightenin’ up’? The hell does _that_ mean, Bonnie?”

“Well, I figure with the way things are…”

“‘The way things are’? What the hell you think I’m doin’ with my time?”

She unfolded her arms and threw her fists down to her sides. “I don’t know! That’s why I tracked you down and am telling you this now. I don’t know what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours, I don’t know what you’re plannin’ on doin’ next, I don’t know where you’re headed, and I don’t know when I’ll be seein’ you next and, if I do, whether you’ll be alive or lyin’ dead in a coffin! I don’t want you to make more mistakes, more that could end up bein’ a LOT worse than killin’ that Ross fellow! I don’t want you endin’ up a gang member or some dirty outlaw!”

Jack’s body stiffened. “Is that what you think of me now? A goddamn _outlaw?”_

“I don’t want you to become one, Jack. Think of what your parents would say!”

Her last sentence cut him to the quick, and his jaw snapped shut as he looked away from her, his lips twitching. His gloves creaked as he balled his hands into tight fists at his sides. Dust swirled around his boots as he turned and took several steps away. His eyes bored into the ground as he seethed from within; his anger scored every inch of his being, and yet at the same time a torrential wave of sadness and guilt washed it away. The two elements within battled each other. The battle not yet decided, Jack turned around. He stared into her blue eyes, weighing his decision a long moment, before he spoke.

“I’m not goin’ back with you, Bonnie.”

“What?”

“I’m not goin’ back with you.”

“But, Jack, you’ll--”

His calm façade melted into finalizing fury as he yelled, “No! I’m NOT go back with you, and I’m NOT gonna die out here, and I’m _NOT_ gonna become an outlaw! I’ll be _just fine_ , damn it!”

Bonnie stood before him absolutely stunned, bereft of any argument and hope for him. Her face looked as if she’d already seen his bullet-ridden body in a coffin. She bowed her head, barely even nodding as she accepted defeat, before turning and mounting her horse.

Seeing her like this crushed his heart. Feeling he should at least acknowledge her efforts and rekindle a sense of hope within her, he looked up at her and murmured, “At least…not for a while.”

The lifeless gaze she gave him sent a deathly chill through him. In an almost emotionless voice, she replied, “Well, whatever you do, don’t forget about the people that care about you, the livin’ ones, at least. You don’t have many friends, so I’d be careful how you handle things, Jack Marston.”

With that, she turned her horse around and galloped away, leaving Jack to wallow in his guilt.

 

*             *             *

 

Jack couldn’t help by spur the Dark Horse harder and fiercer than necessary. He was riding through the winding roads of Gaptooth Ridge, avoiding the mine, and coaxing his scarred steed to go faster, _faster_ until he dared to test his mount’s patience and stamina. Despite his heaving breath and foaming sides, the Dark Horse continued as commanded, hugging the tight and sudden corners before lengthening his body and striding forward on the straighter parts of the curving road.

Jack no longer cared to see the world around him; he didn’t care how angry he’d made his mount or how close he’d urged him to a breaking point. All he cared, all that mattered to him now, was that he was riding away, riding until he felt distance enough between him and his hurt, his pain, his past that never let him fully go. As he came out of the winding trails, he eased his foaming horse to a well-deserved stop as he stumbled upon an abandoned shack. Taking out his map, Jack realized he’d come across The Scratching Post; he assumed it was just a shelter for weary travelers such as himself. With that thought in mind, he dismounted and hitched the Dark Horse in front of the deteriorated shack and its shabby, rotting wooden fence.

“What happened here?” he thought aloud as he searched the property, as if he would get an answer from the abandoned place. As he let his horse rest, Jack rummaged through the shack, finding twenty dollars and some rifle ammunition in a chest and two rotting books on a desk. He frowned, seeing the books sitting there in such sad shape. If they were in good condition, he would’ve taken them and read them at nights beside the fire. When he felt he’d seen all there was of the dilapidated settlement, he mounted back up and rode on at a slow walk.

It wasn’t long until he stumbled upon another abandoned homestead; once again referring to his father’s map, he discovered Solomon’s Folly. He explored the place, finding it a bit creepy and oddly quiet, and came up with nothing to scavenge. With nothing else to do, he continued, bewildered as to why the farm was abandoned in the first place.

By the time his day’s exploration was finished, the sun had begun to sink below the horizon. Tired and wanting nothing more to do than eat and sleep, Jack made camp just off the road. He unsaddled the Dark Horse but kept him tethered to a nearby dead tree; he figured the horse would want to wander off, especially after his rider’s ferocious handling of him from earlier that day.

After eating a small meal, Jack retired into his tent and took out the map for the third time that day. Using the firelight, he looked it over and realized he’d discovered almost every single place of the land. He noted he hadn’t been to Rathskeller Fork, or to the places in Tall Trees, or around Plainview, or in Mexico, but he was fine with that. The places he hadn’t visited were too far of a ride for his liking, and even if they proved fruitful or adventurous in any way, he figured he’d explore them later in the future. _Either way, I’ll get to see those places someday_ , he thought as he put away the map in his saddlebags. He took off his hat, satchel, and guns and set them atop the saddlebags before laying down on his bedroll and stared up at the top of the tent.

_So now what?_ he thought, biting his lower lip. _What’s there for me now? I’m practically done adventuring, and it only took me half a month. Is that all there is to this world, this land? Just a half-month’s journey? And then…nothing? Mexico seems too far away, and yet, it seems the best way to escape. To hell with that. Besides, with all the bad things I’ve seen in the paper, it just seems like a land to avoid._ He scoffed to himself. _Abraham Reyes…Sounds like a guy who let the power get to his head. After what my pa did for him, he turns out like another waste of power. That’s been happenin’ a lot, even after he passed on. God, how fucked up this world is…_

_But if I’m done looking for…well, hell, I don’t even know now…then what does that leave me with? People are getting scared, with the War and all that, and everywhere I look, there’s newcomers settling down. Blackwater keeps growing, the small cowpoke towns are dying, and, hell, the buffalo are gone. Pretty soon I’ll be seein’ people in them automobiles instead of ridin’ ‘round on horses. And Ma and Pa…they’re gone. Goddamn this world; it keeps changing too fast._ He sighed. _But Bonnie…she just keeps on goin’, like she’s fightin’ this change._ He frowned, suddenly thinking about her and their last conversation. _I really should just go to her and help her out, seein’ as there’s not much else for me to do. But being a rancher?_ He almost shuddered at the thought. _But I guess I’ll go help her, since all else has failed and there’s nothin’ for me._ He nodded to himself, finalizing the decision. _I’ll go back to her ranch when tomorrow comes. I just hope she’ll have me._

With that, he closed his eyes, letting sleep quickly take him after such an arduous day.

 

_*             *             *_

 

_The wilderness around him was nothing but a blur as the Dark Horse barreled across the plains. His heaving breath and thundering hoof beats were all he could hear as he raced for his life. He kicked and kicked at the horse’s sides, but the steed only seemed to slow as he pushed on. He was nearly played out._

_“C’mon, C’MON! RUN!”_

_The Dark Horse continued to slow, tossing his head and giving a despairing, gargled whinny._

_“GODDAMN YOU! RUN!”_

_Several gunshots sounded. Jack’s back exploded in pain, and he cried out in agony as he slumped forward against his horse’s sweat-drenched neck. The Dark Horse could only walk then. Gasping and grunting in pain, he looked back over his shoulder and was frozen in fear at the sight of five figures on horseback catching up to him, and fast. Their bodies, neither the riders or the horses, could be discerned, but Jack knew they were lawmen. They had finally caught up with him, and it was only a matter of time before he was killed._

_In the next instant, he was surrounded. Every lawman had their horses stopped and circled around him, their guns pointed at his chest and forehead. Looking frantically all around him, all Jack could do was pant in morbid fear and stare at the black, ominous shapes._

_With a rebellious yell, he drew his pistol, but a volley of shots stopped him before he could shoot. He felt himself falling into darkness, and the black abyss rose around to_ _¾_

Jack jerked awake, reaching out before he fell indefinitely. His hand brushed the top of his tent, and he sat up on his bedroll panting and looking around, shaking and not knowing what had happened or where he was.

“Jesus Christ,” he swore in between breaths as he cradled his head in his hands. His chest rose and fell at a furious speed, and his mind was still in a panicked whirl as he ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed his canteen out of his satchel and took several big draughts of the cool water. Putting it away, he looked out from under the shelter of his tent and saw the sun had barely peaked over the horizon. The sky was splashed with hues of pink, orange, and purple, and he stared wondrously at it for a minute. The sign of life, of a new day, calmed Jack as he crawled out of his tent, dragging his belongings with him. Quickly, he cleaned up camp and saddled the Dark Horse, yearning to be back on the road again towards the only remaining person he cared for and who cared for him.

The rising sun bathed the waking world in a beautiful, promising glow. The wilderness around him quickly became alive; birds sang, coyotes and wolves trotted about, the occasional armadillo and raccoon could be seen waddling around and hiding behind a bush or cactus. Jack took this all in with interest and not in a profound way, seeing as it was just another day dawning. But there was a measure of hope, of a hint of promise, that the day would hold something special for him.

He had ridden all the way up to the borders of Hennigan’s Stead, just barely leaving behind Armadillo and up the curving uphill trail that lead to MacFarlane’s ranch, when a shot rang out. From somewhere behind him, a man yelled, “There he is!”

The Dark Horse spooked beneath him at the sudden gunshot. Keeping him under control, Jack looked over his shoulder and gasped in horror.

His dream was coming true.

Seven dark riders came galloping towards him from the bottom of the hill that lead to Cholla Springs. The glints of light on their chests told Jack they were all lawmen. He turned back around in the saddle and kicked the Dark Horse hard, causing him to leap forward into a furious gallop down the road.

A storm of gunshots sounded from behind him; several whizzed past his head and shoulders, making him gasp and flinch in the saddle.

“GO! LET’S GO!” he shouted, and the Dark Horse responded with a burst of speed. Jack looked over his shoulder and found that he was gaining some ground on his pursuers. He granted himself some hope, but he was careful not to be too boastful just yet. Only when they would be miles away would he feel confident.

His luck drained quickly when the Dark Horse began to lose his stamina. The horse had been so hell-bent on sprinting for the first several miles, and Jack was determined to lose the lawmen, that he didn’t realize how tired his mount really was. Beneath him, the black steed began to slow.

“No, please no!”

He spurred the Dark Horse again. The horse snorted and gave a desperate push forward, but he soon slowed back to his former pace. His stamina was almost completely spent.

“Shit,” Jack hissed and, making a quick decision, reined his horse to the left off the road and into the wild. His pursuers followed, occasionally firing their weapons.

The Dark Horse galloped across the plains of Hennigan’s Stead, flying past the densely-spaced trees and thickets, his mane and tail whipping in the air like black flags. Jack checked over his shoulder yet again, and cried out in despair. His enemies were gaining on him. Very soon, his horse would be completely spent, and he knew all too well that meant death to him.

Another volley of gunshots erupted, and this time, one of them met their mark. Jack cried out as two bullets grazed his right shoulder and his left side. The wounds burned, but he didn’t think much of them, even as blood began to trickle down his clothes and skin. He looked at both wounds, sighing slightly when he realized they weren’t serious, before looking forward.

He was almost thrown over his horse’s head when the Dark Horse suddenly whinnied in fear and planted his hooves in the ground ten feet before a sudden drop-off. Jack managed to grab the saddle horn and a handful of the horse’s mane as he felt himself getting thrown forward out of the saddle. He clung for dear life as the horse slid several feet before gathering his hooves up, jinking to the right, and galloping on. Righting himself back into the saddle, he looked forward, making sure they weren’t headed for another cliff. It was only after a moment of looking around did Jack recognize they were riding beside the edge of Pike’s Basin and steadily climbing a hill.

Quickly, the trees began to thicken and the grass had begun to lengthen as the Dark Horse plowed on up the steady incline, exhausted but determined to outrun their pursuers. Jack looked about, spotting several boars out of the corner of his eye before he glanced back over his shoulder. With an almost defeated sigh, he found the lawmen were still behind him…and were quickly gaining ground. He had almost had enough.

And it was true, especially after a third bullet met his flesh, only this time, it buried itself deep into his right tricep. Jack threw back his head and gave an agonized scream, causing several of his pursuers to cheer behind him.

That was when the revenge began to burn within him. It began as a small spark, a spark that very quickly flickered and exploded into hellfire that coursed through his body. The years of pain, sorrow, and the yearning for revenge built back up in him again, and, gritting his teeth and ignoring the white-hot pain in his arm, he drew his high-powered pistol and roared, “To hell with this!”

He turned around in the saddle and aimed at the first man he saw. He pulled the trigger and watched as the blood flew from out of the man’s chest before he fell off his horse. Jack picked out a second target, fired, and watched the man’s head jerk back as the bullet blew through his brain before his body fell out of the saddle of his frightened paint.

“How do ya like _that_ , boys?!” Jack yelled as he looked forward. He reined his horse to a new direction, away from the hill and off toward what looked like Tall Trees in the distance. Once he felt the horse was redirected, he turned back around and threw up his arm again, aiming at his third victim.

He had to duck and weave his horse about slightly when the lawmen answered back with another torrent of gunshots. As soon as they had stopped, he turned back around and gave them his share of bullets, gunning down three men in rapid succession before boasting, “Down they go!”

Jack smiled as he saw the last man struggle to reload his revolver. He granted him only moments to finish loading and throw up his arm before he shot him in the gut. With a wail of agony, the man slumped off his horse and fell to the ground. Jack eased the Dark Horse to a trot and reined him back around. The adrenaline and revenge still pumped thickly through him, and as he rode up to the man, he sneered victoriously.

The man was whimpering as he crawled away. His left arm was cradled to his side and his hand was clutching his profusely-bleeding gut; with his right arm and his legs, he inched along, dragging himself across the grass and leaving a blood trail. He looked to be no older than Jack, with short blonde hair and stunning green eyes. He was dressed in a deputy’s attire and was from Armadillo, no doubt. Despite all this, Jack still looked down at him as if he were an overgrown insect.

The young man paused in his squirming to look up at him. The whites of his eyes plainly shown. His lower lip began to tremble; tears welled in his pleading eyes as he lifted his bloodied left arm up over his face. “P-p-please,” he stammered, tears streaming down his dirt-caked face. “I’m b-beggin’ ya!”

Jack glared down at the man. He pointed his pistol down at the man’s forehead.

“NO! D--!”

The force of the bullet tearing through the man’s head sent it knocking back against his shoulder blades; blood and brains splattered the grass behind his eviscerated skull, and the body sunk lifeless atop the earth after several erratic twitches. A pool of blood quickly gathered around the body, staining the ground and bathing the clothes and skin. At the scent of blood, the horse’s ears folded back against his head, and he nickered anxiously as he backed away.

Jack holstered his gun and stared down at the body. He studied it for a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side. A slight grin graced his lips as he thought of his newest purpose in life. _It’s not just for Ma and Pa anymore, or for me,_ he thought as he reined his horse around and nudged his sides. _These bastards came after me, and for good reason, too. But that isn’t all there is to it._ His grin widened into a sadistic smile. _Now, it’s for the West. Now, it’s just me and the law, and I’ll be damned if I let the Old West die out and be taken over by these badge-wearin’ sons-a-bitches. I’ll make sure there ain’t no lawman around to keep this old world dyin’, and that’s a fact._

Empowered by his revelation, he urged the Dark Horse on, riding to whatever unknown fate he now set before him.


	5. Already Dead

He began to pant and grit his teeth as he dug deeper into his tricep with his index finger. The pain raged like hellfire, making him shake and scream and suck in air through clenched teeth. The bullet was lodged deep into the muscle. His right hand was covered with fresh blood as he paused in his self-surgery. Gasping, Jack shut his eyes tight and leaned his shirtless torso against the wall of the abandoned shack. He had returned to Solomon’s Folly, hiding his Dark Horse in the stable, and had immediately set to work on his injured arm.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled as he let his head rest against the wall. He waited until the pain dulled to a hot throb and his vision to stop swimming before he tried again. Yet again, he dug his index finger into the bullet wound with an egregious moan and screwed his eyes shut tight. Grimacing, he concentrated on getting his finger around the bullet, but he screamed as the pain soared to a new height, and the blood began to flow steadily out the wound and down his hand. He felt the flesh tear as he tried to shove his finger around the front of the bullet, and with an almighty shriek of pain, he yanked the bullet out at last.

“FUCK!” he roared and threw the bullet across the room. It clattered across the wood floor, stirring up dust before it settled to a stop in the far corner. Blood specked the floor from Jack to the bullet. He sighed and let his arms drop to his sides. It amazed him how exhausted he was, and how much blood he’d shed. His arms and hand shook; he felt dizzy, light-headed, and slightly sick to his stomach. Taking off his father’s hat, he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to slow his breathing. Looking down, he checked his side and grumbled at the sight of blood trickling down from where the bullet grazed his flesh. The scratch was just below his ribs, right at his waist, and it twinged with pain whenever he moved—much less whenever he breathed—but the pain was nothing in comparison to the flaming excruciation in his arm.

Once he felt better, he rummaged through his satchel and retrieved bandages, salve, and medicine. Soon, he was patched up. Putting his shirt and coat back on proved to be a challenge afterwards, but after much toil and fowl curses, he was dressed and sitting on the old cot in the corner of the shack. _Goddamn, if I could have a shot or two of whiskey right about now_ , he thought, frowning as the pain spiked up again. It came in waves, and he was sorely tempted on riding to Armadillo to drink it all away. He thought better of it when he remembered how he got injured in the first place. _Lawmen will probably be all over the place if I go into town. I’ll be shot off my horse if I show my face ‘round there._

Instead, he took some medicine he had left over from his previous injury and ate a reasonable amount of his rations. With all the blood loss, he figured he needed to make up for it and recover his strength. As he ate, he tried to ignore the pain and concentrate on what to do next. _This medicine better fucking kick in soon. My arm’s killing me!_

As he waited for the pain pills to work, his thoughts drifted, and he found himself thinking of Bonnie yet again. _What’s she gonna say to me now? Hell, would she even give a shit about me anymore?_ He scoffed at how things had panned out. _She was right: I AM an outlaw. But what would she say, if she still cared? It’s not like I can just show up at her ranch and expect everything to be right as rain, just like it was before all this. Fuck, If I ride up to her and tell her what all happened now, she’d throw me in jail herself. But what choice did I have? Those bastards shot at and came after ME._ He sighed and laid down on the cot, covering his face with his arm as the sun beamed in through the window, shining directly on his face. He reached down, grabbed his hat, and covered his face with it. Laying his hands on his stomach, he slowed his breathing and closed his eyes.

For an hour or so, he lay there musing over the number of people he’d killed, and in such a short time. _Eleven people… Christ Almighty. I really am my father’s son…Sorry, Pa and Ma, but…. well, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I could go after some bounties now. Killin’ a man ain’t bad, now that I’ve done in eleven people. It’s not like how it was with Ross; that was different…or was it?_

He lifted his hat off his face momentarily, realizing the sun had set and night was beginning to cloak the world. He sighed at the sorry sight _. Another day gone… And to think, I thought today was gonna be a good one. How quickly that went to shit!_ He rolled over on his side, his back facing the window and the loss of a promising day. He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep as the medicine engulfed his body, easing his pain and helping him drift to sleep.

 

*             *             *

 

After three long days of rest, recovery, and hiding, Jack couldn’t take it any more at Solomon’s Folly. By the start of the fourth day, he saddled the Dark Horse and mounted up. He rode across the land, keeping off the roads as much as possible for fear of being recognized and shot at again. He kept his hat down low over his face, kept his gaze fixed downwards at either the ground or his horse’s mane as he rode. Within half a day’s ride, he found himself in Rathskeller Fork. He didn’t stay for long, just enough time to enjoy a few shots of rum, a decent meal, and a much-needed bath, before he was back on the trail again.

Two days later, he found himself in Rio Bravo, a place he hadn’t explored at all and was eager to do so. He loped the Dark Horse across the country, often having to ride through bushes, thorns, and other thick undergrowth that irritated both horse and rider. He climbed Repentance Rock, pausing for half an hour to admire the spectacular view, before climbing back down and riding on to look around Plainview and Fort Mercer. The fort was abandoned, the doors hung wide open and half off their hinges as he rode in. He searched every room, discovering fifty dollars and rations a-plenty, which pleased him, before riding on into the wild. However, he didn’t stay long in the area for fear of getting caught off-guard by lawmen. He kept a sharp eye out for the glint of a badge, the pounding of hoof falls and the snorts of horses, and the familiar sound of human voices as he rode across the countryside of Rio Bravo. But he wasn’t completely keen on keeping an eye out for other dangers.

As the Dark Horse trotted through the rough bush, a chilling yowl sounded from behind. The next thing Jack knew, he was holding onto the saddle horn for dear life as the Dark Horse bucked and kicked wildly, whinnying and shrieking with terror and pain. Jack would’ve stayed in the saddle if it weren’t for his injuries, and when the strength of his shoulder and arm failed him, he was flung up and over the head of his horse, doing a summersault in mid-air before landing hard on his back ten feet in front of his horse. Jack lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe. As he struggled up to his feet, he gaped at the battle before him.

The Dark Horse reared up high, his ears flat against his head and his front hooves slicing through the air. He trumpeted a threatening neigh and tossed his head, snorting aggressively down at the cougar that was crouched before him. The big tan cat seemed perplexed and somewhat frightened; she hissed and bared her fangs at the scarred steed. The Dark Horse responded with more aggression. He came down to the ground only to rear up again, stomping his front hooves in front of the cougar. Again and again he reared and stomped, reared and stomped, and every time he did this, he inched closer to the yowling cat. Jack felt the force of his horse’s aggression and stomping reverberating up his legs.

As the Dark Horse came back down once more, his hooves were aimed down at the cat’s head. With a frightened yowl, she turned and retreated into the bush. Victorious, the Dark Horse landed back down on all fours heavily; he tossed his head and swished his tail in a boastful manner.

Jack stood behind his horse, awestruck as the horse looked back at him over his withers and pricked his ears forward, as if to say, “Are you okay?” With an amused smile, Jack started forward to mount back up and ride on.

Jack’s face met the ground before he could blink. A massive force leapt upon his back and pinned him down to the ground; sharp claws sunk through his duster and shirt. He struggled to roll over and throw off the cougar before she could sink her teeth into the back of his head and neck. Though he couldn’t see anything, he could feel the Dark Horse’s heavy hooves pounding the ground as his mount charged forward and neighed angrily at the cougar.

Suddenly, Jack no longer felt the cougar on his back. He scrambled to his feet and unsheathed his hunting knife. He held it aloft and stood poised; his head whipped about as he tried to locate his attacker. Beside him, the Dark Horse nervously nickered and pinned his ears back.

“C’mon, you goddamned beast! C’MON!”

She came quicker than he anticipated from the left, crashing through the brush in a millisecond and soaring through the air with her claws aimed at his chest and her open maw lunging for his neck. He barely had time to counter the attack with a swipe of his knife and roll sideways out of the way. As he rolled back up onto his feet, he brandished the knife in front of him. Red tendrils stained the blade; the cougar’s right front leg was slashed open and bleeding profusely.

With a furious hiss, the cougar leapt once more. She favored her injured leg, which cost her strength, speed, and distance as she leapt into the air at him again. However, she was still fast enough to evade the knife; he swung the knife too soon, so much so that he had completely swung through just before she was on top of him. She pinned him to the ground on his back just as he was swinging the knife back toward her.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of his death, but instead he felt a heavy mass laying on top of him. He gave a frightened and baffled yelp when he opened them and saw the cougar’s face inches away from his. She was laying on top of him dead, her eyes still open and her maw still reaching for his face. He pushed her off him and got up onto his knees. Blood stained the front of his shirt and coat. The hilt of his knife stuck out of the side of the cougar, its blade buried in-between her ribs. He pulled his knife out of the cougar’s side, mystified by the red tendril as the blade was withdrawn from her hide. It refused to break from the knife for two seconds before it released itself in a messy splat. The tendril popped, flicking blood onto Jack’s pants and the cougar’s beautiful coat. Grimacing at the sight, Jack wiped the blade clean on the rump of the dead cougar before sheathing it. He rose shakily to his feet, turned, and mounted his unnaturally calm Dark Horse. Jack nudged his brave mount’s sides and rode away from the battlefield at a brisk trot.

 

*             *             *

 

It didn’t seem like another month had passed for Jack as he rode about aimlessly around the frontier, but it did. He hadn’t seen a single person in that time, and he was glad for it. He made camp and rode about in the most desolate areas; he hid in abandoned houses, lived off the wild game he shot and the plants he picked, and sipped water from the clear streams alongside his Dark Horse. Day by day, he felt less himself, whoever _that_ man was. Not that there was a lot left of him to call him himself, but he seemed even more devoid of life. He was a young man living off the land, roughing it out the hardest way possible, almost nomadic. He felt already dead, and yet, he wasn’t.

The deaths of those eleven men in total didn’t bother him after a week or so. Sure, he often thought about the number, saw the faces of the men he’d killed in his mind’s eye as he replayed their final moments in his head, but oddly enough, it didn’t get to him. _They were just faces…numbers…lawmen_ , he rationalized as he made residence in Pleasance House yet again. _That’s all they were: worthless lawmen. Their place in this corrupt world was worsening it, and I eradicated that problem by lessening the number of lawmen. An even trade, I’d say._ His thoughts had been that way ever since he turned the Dark Horse around and rode off into the wild, right after he’d shot and killed that young lawman. His thought processes had become cold, calculated. His instincts led him on over the frontier, keeping him alive and out of sight. It was a silent, rationalized war he’d come to terms with. It was him versus the law now. Soon, though, he’d show his face. Soon, he’d make a bigger, bolder move.

And his sights were set on Armadillo for it.


	6. Dead End Alley

Jack let the Dark Horse walk as slow as he wanted down the main street of Armadillo as he kept a vigilance for any lawmen creeping about like rats in a sewer. The sea of twinkling stars above graced the world around him with enough light, except for the town’s lanterns and the new electric light, so that as he rode past the saloon, he could see the many drunkards and prostitutes mingling about. He didn’t pay any attention to the scantily-dressed women who cooed out to him. He simply rode on: his mind was on other things this night, things that he’d need all his concentration and wits.

Jack scowled as he rode up to the doctor’s office. A young gentleman was bent over leaning his elbows on the railing of the wooden walkway. The pot-bellied fellow sipped from a flask, looking down the street absentmindedly. He wore lighter-colored clothing with a grey vest and silver belly bowler hat. His well-fed exterior, bulbous head with little hair, and lazy eye made Jack almost laugh out loud¾he wasn’t too impressed by the lawman.

The deputy looked rather bored…until he spotted Jack riding his dark steed. The deputy’s badge caught the starlight in the cloaking darkness as he leaned up from the railing. It was a mere speck of hope in the night for him and for the town. The man looked at Jack and his piebald mount with a wary countenance. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and looked at the horse’s red eyes, the eyes of a beast that took in everything with unbridled hatred like his rider.

As he rode past the man, Jack glared down at him and remarked smartly, “It sure must be nice gettin’ paid to do nothin’!”

The deputy’s pudgy face contorted in anger; his hand came to rest on the butt of his revolver that hung at his hip. “I-I’m the l-l-law here, son. You’d better w-watch it.”

Jack guffawed and shook his head. His trigger finger twitched beside his high-powered pistol. His usual scowl and narrowed eyebrows contorted his ruggedly handsome face; he could feel the deputy’s eyes on his back the entire time.

“Stupid lawman,” he murmured. “I’ll show him who the _real_ law is tonight.” He grinned as he glanced about for more of the scum that hid behind badges.

He found another one strolling out of the sheriff’s office. He looked rather thin and wiry to be a lawman. He was dressed in darker clothing, with a red shirt, black vest, and black bowler hat. His black hair reached past his ears and to the middle of his neck. He carried himself in an arrogant, self-centered manner. His lower lip bulged forward from the dip of chewing tobacco he held in his mouth. He spat a globule of brown spit at the Dark Horse’s hooves as Jack stopped in front of the sheriff’s office.

The deputy looked up at Jack, his beady eyes narrowing as he looked him over. “Whatchu want, boy?”

Jack answered with a scowl as he looked him over. Yet again he had to scoff at the lawmen of Armadillo: the man looked rather dim-witted, just like his fat companion that waddled up to join his side. The two lawmen exchanged weary glances before turning their attention back to the young man astride his black steed.

“Hey, I asked ya a question,” the thinner one chided. He spat again. “What, ya stupid er somthin’?”

“Coming from a half-wit like you, deputy, I’d say that’s more of a death wish than anything.”

The lawmen froze; their eyes widened.

“Ya meanin’ to gun us down, mister?”

“If it comes to it, hell yes, mister.”

Every sound heightened then as Jack and the lawmen stared each other down. The creaking of the Dark Horse’s saddle, the hasty breath of the deputies, the occasional jingle of their spurs as they shifted their weight from foot to foot, the call of nocturnal animals further out in the desert, the sighing breeze that danced through town… The world watched on with bated breath.

“N-now, now, mister,” the fat one said, holding up a hand, “this don’t need to get ugly. Tell us what you want and we can talk like civilized men.”

Jack scoffed; the Dark Horse chewed his bit and swished his tail. “’Civilized men’? I’d say you two are far from it.” His hand inched toward his pistol at his side. “There is nothing civilized in this world, mister.”

The thin deputy’s eyes narrowed as he looked Jack over more carefully. “You look familiar, pard. Who the hell are you?”

Jack drew his gun and pointed it down at the man’s chest. “Jack Marston. Remember it, _friend_.”

The deputies reached for their revolvers.

Jack responded with a fowl visage and straightened his arm further. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, there, deputies. Keep them hands in the air.”

The fat one raised his hands, obeying without question, while the other kept his hand on his revolver.

“Now stand still while I decide whether to kill you or not.”

“M-Mister Marston,” the fat one stuttered, “we don’t want any trouble.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed to dangerous, black slits. “Oh, but I do, mister. I do.” He shot the thin deputy, dropping him within seconds.

“Jonah! NO!” the fat one cried before drawing his revolver.

Jack disarmed him by shooting his hand. The man screamed and dropped his revolver, only to clutch at his bleeding hand. His pain was quickly replaced by rage, however, when he rushed forward and grabbed Jack’s leg, attempting to pull him out of the saddle. Before the man could do so, Jack struck him in the head with the butt of his gun. The man hit the ground hard, his overweight body wobbling and jiggling as he came to rest face-down in the dirt before the office’s hitching post. With a victorious chuckle, Jack turned the Dark Horse around and rode at a brisk lope toward the back of the bank. So far, his plan had gone somewhat well. The two buffoons of Armadillo were dealt with, and he had the bank all to himself now.

He dismounted his horse before the beast could slide to a stop. In his excitement, he leaped off the saddle and jogged to a stop in front of the back door. He backed up a couple steps, paused to take several energizing breaths, before he strode forward and kicked the door with all the strength he could muster. To his amazement and pride, the hinges and lock shattered off and the door fell heavily inward with a loud BANG. Jack rushed in, his gun drawn and held ready as he made his way to the back room.

He smiled at the sight of two chests and two safes in the small room. He looted the chests and stuffed the four-hundred dollars in his satchel before he knelt in front of the closest safe.

He suddenly stopped, stupefied. He had never cracked a safe before, but from what he could recall in the books he’d read, he figured it would be the same and just as easy. He pressed his ear to the door and began slowly turning the knob to the right. He listened to the gears as they turned, and he kept turning the dial until he heard a click. He stopped and turned back counter-clockwise, and repeated the process until he heard the click again. When at last he figured he’d cracked the code, he turned the handle and pulled back on the door. To his shock, the door obeyed and swung outward, revealing a large pile of cash in the belly of the safe. His eager hands reached for the precious pile of wealth.

His hand jerked to a stop at the sound of shouts and hasty footfalls. The yells of men and cocking of firearms could be heard as several pairs of boots jogged around the bank. Jack’s heart froze; his blood ran thick with ice-cold dread as he realized the bank was being surrounded.

“Shit!”

He scooped up the money and stuffed it into his bulging satchel. He glanced back at the other safe, wishing he would’ve been granted more time to crack it. He turned away from it and held his high-powered pistol aloft as he crept up to the doorway of the back room. He pressed his back against the wall and peeked his head around.

He ducked just in time as several bullets struck the wall near his face. His swung his pistol around the threshold and fired several shots blindly. “C’mon, you sons-a-bitches! I’m John Marston’s boy! You bastards don’t have a chance!”

His response was a volley of shots and incoherent battle cries. Yet again, Jack had to duck back and press his back against the wall.

“Give it up, boy!” one of them shouted. “We’ve got the bank surrounded! You’ve got nowhere to run! Come out with your hands up!”

“TO HELL WITH YOU ALL!” He abandoned his cover as he stood in the doorway and threw his arm up. There were three men ten feet in front of him, right behind the counter. All three were sheriffs, and all three had their firearms aimed at him. Jack aimed for the first man’s head; he fired once and killed him instantly before moving on to the other two and dispatching them in the same manner. As their bodies fell to the floor in a puddle of blood and carnage, Jack boasted, “ _Now_ do you believe I’m a Marston?”

A figure caught his attention as it ran across the street in front of the bank. Taking no chances, Jack aimed and fired a shot at the figure’s chest.

A woman’s scream split through the night; her body went limp and fell to the ground in a cluster of limbs, clothing, and hair.

Jack froze. His mouth fell open as he stared at the woman’s body that lay bleeding out in the street. “God…no. No. No, no, no, no, no, NO!” He swallowed thickly; bile began to rise in his throat. A cold sweat engulfed his body. He began to tremble violently. “What have I--?”

He never finished his question; something hard and metallic struck the back of his head. The floor rushed up to meet him, and he saw no more.

 

*              *             *

 

The first thing he could discern was pain. Pain that wrapped around his skull and sat throbbing there, keeping him in misery. He opened his eyes, and the pain ruptured to a new high as a bright light struck his eyes, and he immediately shut them with a yelp. He lifted his right arm to shade his face, and to his surprise, his left arm lifted as well. The loud jingling of chains assailed Jack’s ears, and, confused, he opened his eyes once more.

He was lying on a cot, and his hands were bound in handcuffs. The bright morning sun filtered through the window, splashing his face and chest with warm, dazzling rays. With a groan, he sat up and looked around. His heart sunk to his gut as he took in his surroundings. He was sitting in a small building, with bars encasing him like a rat in a cage. He was in jail, and he had been removed of his firearms, satchel, bandolier, and hat.

“How?” he wondered aloud as he stood up off the bed. He walked up to the front of his cell and gripped the bars hard.

“So yer finally awake, ya cock-suckin’ bastard!” a high-pitched, arrogant voice came from his right. Jonah sat at the sheriff’s desk staring venomously at him. Jack noticed his red shirt was replaced by a dark blue one, and that his right arm was in a sling.

“What the hell is this?” Jack demanded. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Yer in jail, ya dumbfuck!” the deputy answered as he stood up. He ambled up to Jack with a smug smirk. “So, ya think ya can rob our bank ‘n’ get away with it? Yer as dumb as a goddamn nail!”

“Unlock this door and I’ll show you otherwise, ya fuckin’ hick.”

Jonah opened his open to spit back a reply, but a woman’s voice cut him off from outside.

“That’s quite enough, Jonah! Now get out here so we can discuss this.”

The deputy looked Jack over with a look of disgust before turning away and replying, “Yes, Miss MacFarlane. I’m a-comin’.”

Jack looked past Jonah and felt his heart ice over. Bonnie stood beside on the porch with the fat deputy he’d pistol-whipped, along with the sheriff of Armadillo. Jack didn’t recognize the man; he only cast a brief glance over him before looking back at Bonnie.

His gaze snagged on the young woman standing beside Bonnie. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat as he stared at her. She was beautiful, no doubt, with long dark-brown hair that tumbled out from under a black Stetson hat to settle at the middle of her back. Her face and brown eyes were oval-shaped. Her body curved in all the right places in her rancher attire. Jack was amazed to see a woman dressed in men’s clothing: she wore dark brown pants, black boots with eye-catching spurs, a tan shirt, a black vest, and a black duster. Strapped to her side was a semi-automatic pistol; slung over her shoulder sat a Henry repeater.

_Damn_ , he caught himself thinking. _Who is she?_

He panicked when she looked up and met eyes with him. A brief second lasted as the two stared at each other. The distrusting, hateful glare she gave him made him cringe inwardly and look away. He kept his gaze at her feet for a few seconds before he dared look up at her again. She was looking at Bonnie and the fat deputy. Jack watched as Jonah joined the group.

“Alright, so what’s gonna be done with that worthless sum-bitch?” Jonah asked in his thick drawl, jerking his thumb back toward Jack.

Bonnie and the sheriff silenced him with vicious glares before they exchanged indecisive glances.

“Look, Miss,” the sheriff began.

“Call me Bonnie.”

He nodded respectfully. “Look, Bonnie…We’ve finally caught this little prick. He’s done all sorts of bad things. So far, he’s killed ten people, and including the three lawmen and the innocent woman he gunned down last night, that makes fourteen. He assaulted my deputies and tried to rob the bank, but thanks to Eli here,” he motioned to the fat deputy, who grinned with pride, “he’s now in custody. What you’re proposing isn’t something I’d deem wise, much less realistic. He’s too far gone.”

“I know that, but he deserves a second chance! His father did, and he earned it fair and square,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest stubbornly.

“Mr. Marston was an outlaw, Bonnie, there’s no mistaking that, but yes, he did earn his freedom. But you know damn well how good it did him. People must pay for their mistakes, miss, including this kid. He will be tried in court and hung, that’s for damn sure.”

“ _I’ve seen good in this boy!_ There’s still a chance for him! Let me take him back to my ranch. He might not be here in this jail, but I’ll make him wish he was after I’m done with him.”

The sheriff gave her a blank stare. He blinked twice before shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He rested his hands on his belt and gave Bonnie a disbelieving look. “So you’re saying he’ll serve his time as a ranch hand?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. And if he tries anything, anything at all, I have a jail cell with his name on it. In fact, he’ll be sleepin’ there every night until he earns the right to sleep in a comfortable bed.”

The sheriff looked down at his boots and shook his head. He sighed heavily. “Do you realize how goddamned hard it’s gonna be for me to sort this all out with the judge? I’m gonna have to jump through loopholes if we’re gonna make this work. He would need to go to court, at least, and even then…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a callused hand and glanced up at her. “I don’t know, Bonnie…”

She held up a wad of cash. “I got the exact amount I saw on his wanted poster. Would that be recompense for his bounty?”

Jonah, Eli, and the sheriff stared at her slack-jawed. No one moved for a long moment. Beside her, the beautiful young woman popped her neck.

“Please, sheriff. It’s his only chance. I can make this work. You know I can.”

The men exchanged dubious. A long moment of deliberation wavered between the sheriff and Bonnie. The sheriff sighed and ran a hand over his face as he took the cash from Bonnie.

“Very well, Bonnie. But you owe me this time, got it? Eli, escort the boy out then go get his nag from the livery.”

Bonnie inclined her head to the man. “Thank you, sheriff.” She looked to her young companion and nodded to Jack in his cell. “Go help the deputy, would you please?”

The woman gave a curt nod before following Eli into the building. She stood aside as the fat deputy unlocked his cell. As soon as the door was swung open and Eli grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, the woman drew her pistol and aimed it at his face. Startled at how fast she’d drawn her weapon, Jack looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“Come on, Mister Marston,” Eli grumbled, pushing him forward. “Time’s a-wastin’ for you.”

“Get your goddamn hands off me,” he snarled back and shrugged off the man’s hand. “You damn lawmen are the _real_ criminals!”

The cold touch of the woman’s gun against his temple shut him up. “Move,” she commanded, her voice low and deadly. She had a voice unlike any other, and for a brief moment, Jack’s glare softened as he stared at her in awe. He was just starting to take in her features when a rough shove by Eli made him jerk forward.

“Get your damn hands off me, I said!” he grumbled as he walked out of the sheriff’s office.

Bonnie faced him and commanded, “Jack Marston, you say one more word and I’ll personally gun you down myself!”

Jack stumbled to a stop in front of her, terrified to be so close to her now after what seemed like an age ago. He masked his fear by putting on his usual scowl and glared down at her as he stood up straight.

He and the others looked to the south as Eli came riding up on a dapple-grey mare leading the Dark Horse. The fat man’s face was red and beaded with sweat as he struggled with the dark steed. Jack’s horse was an angry mess: he reared up, his ears were pinned back flat against his head, and his red eyes bulged in anger. He tossed his piebald head about, trying to yank the reins out from Eli’s grasp. Beneath the fat man, the dapple-grey danced and shied to the side to avoid the Dark Horse’s grey hooves; the poor creature was frightened out of her wits, and she gave a weary whicker. The Dark Horse responded with aggression; he bucked and kicked out, throwing his head about and swishing his tail.

“Eli, get that damn horse under control!” the sheriff called out.

Panting, Eli yanked the Dark Horse’s head forward and nudged his horse’s sides, urging her forward and bringing Jack’s crazed mount closer. “I…I’m sorry, sir, but this…beast is hard to handle! This nag’s got the devil in him! He won’t stop fightin’!”

Jack grinned and chuckled to himself. “Dumb bastard.”

Bonnie elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut your mouth, boy.” She looked over at the sheriff. “Why don’t we have Jack mount up now? It’ll probably be easier on all of us.”

The sheriff nodded. “Good idea.” He glowered at Jack. “Well, boy, get to it.”

“Why should I?”

_“Mount up!”_ Bonnie seized him by the crook of his arm and started forward, pulling him along. “Lord Almighty, I’ve about had it with you, Jack.”

“Then why are you doin’ this to me, Bonnie?” he demanded, stopping dead in his tracks and pulling her back.

She yanked him forward and shoved him toward his horse. “I’m saving your life, Jack Marston.”

“Bullshit! Who do you think you are, throwin’ me around like this? You’re not my mother! You have no right to--”

She silenced him with the hardest slap he’d ever received by a woman. He stumbled back several steps, almost falling back, but she grabbed him by the collar and shoved her face into his.

“Now, you listen, and you listen good, John Marston, Jr.: I am NOT letting you throw your life away. What you’re doin’ is down-right STUPID, and from now on, you’re gonna live by my rules and you’re gonna learn to embrace life and learn the value of it through hard work, make no mistake about that! There’s only so much shit a woman can put up with, and I’m puttin’ an end to all this nonsense! I am NOT gonna stand by and let you die the way your father did! Do you _want_ to be gunned down like he was? I sure as hell hope not! So here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m gonna work you, and I mean work you hard. I’m talkin’ from sun up to sun down, I’m puttin’ you to work so hard you’ll be damn near dead when I’m through with you! And I’m makin’ you fix up Beecher’s Hope. When you’re good and right in the head, I’ll give you some cattle, maybe a couple mustangs and chickens, and maybe even a ranch hand to help you out. You’re gonna become the honorable son of John and Abigail Marston, and you’re gonna be proud to be alive and a hard worker. _THAT_ is what we’re gonna do.”

Jack stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her, speechless. He allowed her to drag him toward his horse. When they were ten feet away from the dark, scarred steed, she let go of his arm only to kick him hard on his backside. As he stumbled forward, the Dark Horse calmed in the presence of his rider, and his hands grasped the left stirrup as he nearly fell underneath the horse. Pulling himself back up onto his feet, he stood beside his Dark Horse panting and embarrassed. He looked back at Bonnie.

“Mount up. Now.”

He quickly did as he was told.

With a quick exchange of pleasantries, the sheriff and Bonnie parted ways. The woman followed her lead as they walked to their horses and mounted up. Jack noticed Bonnie still rode on the tobiano pinto; he was flabbergasted as he took his gaze off Bonnie’s mount to stare at the strange woman’s steed.

The horse was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The mare was jet black with flaxen mane and tail and one white sock on her left hind pastern. The horse had quite the muscular build, even for a mare, and he couldn’t help but stare at the horse, as well as the rider.

The woman noticed this and frowned. “You get a good look yet, scumbag?”

Jack looked down at the saddle horn and cleared his throat.

“That’s what I thought,” the woman huffed and reined her horse closer to the Dark Horse. She held out her right hand to Eli. “Give me the reins. I’ll take these two.”

Eli blinked in rapid succession. “You sure, miss? They’re both handfuls.”

“There ain’t a man or horse I couldn’t handle. I’ll be just fine.”

“But you’re…”

“A woman?” Her eyes narrowed as she yanked the reins out of his meaty hands. “I can handle these two easier than you could ever hope to, _deputy_.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bonnie walked her tobiano mare up to her companion’s mount. “Are we ready?”

Her friend gave a nod and a grin, signaling her readiness. Behind her, Jack sat helpless in the saddle, gripping onto the saddle horn and watching the women with a bitter frown.

“Let’s go, then,” Bonnie said and spurred her horse forward.

The woman glanced over her shoulder at Jack. “Come along now, princess.”

Jack tensed his body and held onto the saddle horn as the woman spurred her black beauty forward, leading the Dark Horse out of Armadillo. Within moments, the three of them were loping down the road towards MacFarlane’s ranch.

 

*              *             *

 

By the time the trio had arrived at the ranch, dusk was quickly consuming the world. Not a single word was spoken the entire ride; Jack couldn’t help but dread what was in store for him as he rode the Dark Horse behind the other woman. He stared at the way her long hair streamed behind her like a flag. Occasionally, he glanced over at Bonnie, but only for a split second for fear of catching her ice-cold stare. Not once did she look back at him. Cold-shouldering him didn’t bother him…until her ranch came into sight. Then his heart sank, and he had to suppress a shudder as he thought about what his fate was to be in the coming months.

As they rode onto the property, Bonnie and the woman slowed their mounts to a trot before stopping before the sheriff’s office. They dismounted without a word and looked up at him.

“Well?” the unnamed woman asked. “Ya gonna sit on your nag all night, or are you gonna dismount?”

With a grumble, Jack did as he was told. He gave a snarl when the woman grabbed him by the arm and drug him into the sheriff’s office. A sheriff sat behind his desk with his legs propped up. At the sight of her and Jack, he immediately scrambled up to his feet.

“Christ Almighty,” the woman cursed. “It’s like I gotta do everything around here for you men.” She motioned to the cell and added, “Well? Open it.”

The man did as she commanded. Jack shuffled through the doorway into his cell, glaring down at the ground. He gave a sharp groan when the woman kicked his backside.

“Goddamn it, woman! I can walk just fine!”

“You were gettin’ too slow for my liking,” she responded with a sly grin as she shut the door in his face. She looked back as Bonnie entered the room.

Bonnie came to stand before the lawman. “Bill, I want you to keep an eye on the boy tonight. Give him some food, too, whatever’s left of tonight’s supper. I want him up bright and early tomorrow ready for work. You think you can do that for me?”

“You’ve got it, Miss MacFarlane,” he responded with a respectful tip of his hat.

“Good.” She turned to face Jack; her face hardened as her eyes came to rest on him. “And _you_. You’d best be gettin’ some good shut-eye tonight, ‘cause you’re gonna need it. Tomorrow, you start a new life, Jack Marston.” With that, she and the woman left the building, closing the door behind them.

The sheriff watched them leave before returning to his seat at the desk. He propped up his legs and lit a cigar. Smoke billowed out of his mouth and enveloped his face before dissipating above him. Jack watched him with contempt.

Quite suddenly, the sheriff looked at him and chuckled.

Jack glared at him and demanded in a low voice, “The hell’s so funny, lawman?”

“Oh, I’m just laughin’ at you, boy,” he said with the cigar still wrapped around his lips. “You’re gonna be in a world of hurt after Bonnie’s done with your sorry ass.” He took another puff of his cigar, his gleaming eyes fixed on the seething young man before him. He chuckled again, his shoulders bouncing up and down from it. Smoke coiled around the man’s face as he blew it out. He blinked slowly so the smoke wouldn’t burn his eyes, and when he opened them, he smiled slyly at Jack. “Oh, yes, boy. You are gonna be in a _world_ of hurt.”


End file.
